


Little Do You Know

by arrowinthesky (restfulsky5)



Category: Star Trek Beyond - Fandom, Star Trek: Alternate Original Series (Movies)
Genre: Adventure, Age Regression/De-Aging, Angst, De-Aged Jim, Domestic Fluff, Dubious Science, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Fanart, Fluff, Friends to Lovers, Friendship, Hurt Jim, Hurt/Comfort, Idiots in Love, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Kid Fic, Little Jim, M/M, Oblivious Jim, Post-Star Trek Beyond, Pre-Relationship, Protective Bones, Pseudoscience, Regret, Relationship(s), Romance, Sacrifice, Space Pirates, Star Trek Beyond Spoilers, Star Trek Into Darkness compliant, artwork, child custody, protective crew, things that occurred in that movie will not be ignored in this fic
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-07-29
Updated: 2017-10-11
Packaged: 2018-07-27 13:33:16
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 10
Words: 52,982
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7620025
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/restfulsky5/pseuds/arrowinthesky
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Before Jim can fully understand the deep love he's always shared with Bones, or express the affection he feels for him that goes well beyond brotherhood, an accident changes things forever.</p><p>Bones will never forgive himself for not giving the man he loves a second chance or being more forthright with him. Now that he has an innocent, four-year-old boy named Jimmy on his hands on the Yorktown, he vows to protect him at all costs while searching for a cure. He knows what awaits Jim back in Riverside. He'll die first before sending a vulnerable child back to that place.</p><p>It just so happens, the rest of Jim's crew feel the same way.</p><p>**On HIATUS, not abandoned! I WILL be back with more in a couple months and finish this fic! I decided to narrow in on And if I Stand Next to You and Surrender, as far as McKirk fics right now, until those are done **</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Things That I Remember

**Author's Note:**

> Hello! "Beyond" pleasantly surprised me with the inspiration to do something I’ve wanted to do for years - write a de-aged Jim. :) I have several story ideas floating around regarding the new movie, but this is the one that will be written first. The idea of writing a small Jim is just too enticing...
> 
> This story, for the most part, takes place at the very end of the movie and continues on after that. However, a few chapters will be out of order chronologically. I will be very clear about those when I post them. If this veers slightly into "AU" territory, it will be a mistake. :D I am trying to stay within the movie context, however, you never know. 
> 
> Thank you Diamondblue4 and Junker5 for kindly betaing, for being willing to listen and share ideas regarding these beloved characters with me. *hugs*
> 
> I hope you enjoy the read. :)

 

 

oOo

Chapter One  
Things That I Remember

 oOo

 

Jim wakes up to a massive headache and the memory of watching Jaylah do the impossible—drink Scotty under the table. He'd never seen anything like it, even though he’d come close to doing the same thing once or twice for the sole purpose of eliminating boredom on the ship. But he’d never managed to do so with the same flair that Jaylah had possessed. It had been the same way with her traps. She’d gone above and beyond, guaranteeing that she’d come out on top and make it out alive every time.

Jaylah is clearly meant to do more. He’d bet a million credits that she’ll find a new place to use her skills whether or not she graduates from the Academy. He secretly hopes that if she does decide to continue along the path to become a Starfleet officer, that he’ll still be captain of the Enterprise.

She fit with his crew, could fight with the best of them, had a sensitive but strong spirit, and continued to call him James T. Not James. Not Jim. Not even Captain. To his chagrin, Bones has already developed the annoying habit of smirking at Jim whenever she says his name.

For those reasons, he’s damn sure he’ll pull even more strings than he has already to make sure she succeeds at the Academy, and, once graduated, have a guaranteed spot on his ship.

Keeping his eyes closed, he turns his head with effort, then squints to read the chronometer. He’s shocked that it’s well past noon. Sighing, Jim struggles to roll onto his side, his limbs tangled in the sheets.

“Dammit,” he breathes, freeing his left leg with a jerk.

Once he does settle on his side, he curls back into a ball. If he were smart, making the most of the time they had left at Yorktown, he’d comm Bones now. Ask for one of his hangover-curing cocktails, see if they could take a walk. Not languish in bed. But he doesn’t think he can wrestle the mound of pillows and rumpled blankets that are between him and his comm. He groans into his pillow, immediately wishing he hadn’t. His morning breath smells more rotten than usual.

He can’t deny that he’d loved the surprise party Bones had thrown him, but he hates himself for drinking so damn much. He’d thought he’d toned it down a notch, predicting the way he’d feel the next morning. Also wanting to spend the time with Bones with his head at least partly on straight.

He might have gotten carried away when Bones had stayed by his side, unable to stop simply because his best friend had held onto his elbow, guiding him as they’d walked around the room, mingling. At the time, it’d seemed logical to believe that he’d been supporting Jim, still concerned about the small but brutal list of injuries he’d sustained in the last fight he’d had with Edison. Several cracked ribs, the bruising covering his torso, some internal bleeding, and even a few, hairline fractured bones of his face and hands. And Bones is nothing if not a mother-hen when it comes to his injuries.

But now he wants to believe it had been...something more.

“Well, well, well. Sleeping Beauty is finally awake.”

The voice is far too loud this morning, and a shade on the intimidating and grumpy side. Jim shoots up in bed. The merciless pounding in his head momentarily takes his breath away.

“Gah.” He puts both of his hands to his head to steady himself, groaning. Is he imagining things? Bones is here? “You’re here?”

His own words echo like heavy beats of a drum, each one attacking his skull like those fucking bots of Krall’s.

Bones snorts from the bedroom doorway. “Obviously,” he says in a dry tone, walking towards him. “You about jumped out of your own skin.”

“Mr. Sensitive wouldn’t have scared me like that,” he argues in a whisper, hunching over. From the corner of his eye, he watches as Bones rolls his eyes. “You should’ve warned me,” he adds accusingly.

Bones sighs. “I did. Jim…”

Jim glances sideways at him, grimacing. “You’re using that voice you use when you reprimand your staff—or me. What did I do this time?”

“This. You want to explain this to me?” Bones asks in monotone, holding up Jim’s PADD.

Though surprised that he actually had done something to upset him, he doesn’t feel up to explaining anything. “Maybe later? When I can think?”

He falls ungracefully back onto his pillow and closes his eyes.

“I’d like to talk now,” Bones says. “Since I’m here, and you don't have activities for three hours.”

“Right.” He frowns. What activities? “Well, while you’re here, can I have that hypo…” His frown deepens. Did Bones bring him to his door last night? “Did you stay the entire night?”

He’s an idiot if Bones had and he can’t even remember, because that means he’s an ungrateful, drunken friend. Bones had had a hard day, too, recently and probably shouldn't have sacrificed his good night’s rest for Jim.

“Yeah, Jim,” Bones says quietly. “I did, because you asked me to.”

He always asks Bones to come back with him after drinks, but he hardly ever takes him up on it, unless they were both off duty the next day. Figures that the night he had agreed, Jim can’t even remember.

“I did?” he asks doubtfully.

The bed dips beside him. He opens his eyes to find Bones sitting on the edge.

Bones’s brow arches high. “I was going to stay with you, anyway. Towards the end of the party, you weren’t yourself.”

“I was drunk,” Jim states the obvious, wincing from the pain as the bots shoot into his head again.

“Actually, you weren't drunk. Someone mixed up the drinks, accidentally giving you the wrong one,” Bones says, voice so low he strains to hear him.

“What do you mean wrong one?” Jim asks, confused.

Bones looks absolutely miserable. “It was meant for someone else, of another species, a species we are still trying to pinpoint. It was essentially poisonous for you, Jim.”

Jim stares at him in disbelief. “Come again?”

“Someone poisoned you with the wrong drink,” Bones repeats patiently.

“No, no,” he murmurs, kneading his aching forehead. “That didn’t happen.”

He’d remember that, wouldn’t he?

“Yes, Jim, it did happen,” Bones says matter-of-factly. “You were poisoned. On your birthday. At the party….” He clenches his teeth. “That I threw you.”

He blinks at him. Was this some fucking joke? “Are you fucking with me?”

“I’m not, Jim,” Bones said, expression wounded.

“That’s impossible,” Jim says confusedly. “I don’t...I don’t remember any of it.”

Bones won’t look at him. “I know ya don’t. You can read my medical logs if you want confirmation, Jim.”

“You’re serious, then?” he asks incredulously. “Poisoned?”

“At this point, the authorities can’t prove it was premeditated, but in light of recent circumstances they assigned a guard to you. They would like to talk with you but I’ve used _my_ authority to give you time to recuperate first,” Bones says, still averting his eyes. “After you’d ingested the drink, you kept trying to tell me something about the meeting you’d had. You also kept trying to dance with me—”

“That doesn't sound too bad,” Jim says, imagining holding hands with Bones in the process, somewhere other than sickbay where he was always injured, needing comfort.

“— _and_ Keenser, at the same time,” Bones says flatly, now glancing up. “Without your pants on. Wouldn’t be so bad, but Jaylah witnessed the entire thing.”

Oh. _Fuck_.

“That’s just great,” Jim mutters under his breath.

“Only you, Jim. Only you,” Bones breathes out. He cocks his head. “That’s when I realized something was wrong, because you hadn’t had much to drink at all. We took you to sickbay, where Spock helped me formulate an antidote and we gave you the first dosage, also making sure you didn't puke your guts out and your fever didn’t get any higher. Once you were stabilized, I brought you here to your room so you'd be more comfortable to just wait it out. But don’t worry about Jaylah, Jim. She thinks you’re a little off your rocker, anyway, especially since you handled her bike as well as you did. Though I did explain to her what happened with the poison.”

He’s speechless. “I…” His brow twitches as he frowns and tries to figure out how, exactly, to say thank you. “Uh…”

“Back to the meeting,” Bones continues as if they weren’t just talking about yet another near-death experience of his.

In fact, he’s acting strangely calm about everything.

Jim decides he’ll go along with it. He really doesn’t want to make a big deal about the poisoning incident he doesn’t remember, anyway. Or the dancing.

He sighs, shaking his head. “Not now, Bones. It’s the day after my birthday. It’s practically still my birthday, if you count the...uh...poison hangover. No talks about meetings.”

“Today you do talk about meetings,” Bones says simply. “Want to explain this?”

Jim rubs his hands over his face. “Explain what?”

He squints again, barely making out Bones’s face and the screen.

Bones sighs, putting the PADD and its offensive, bright screen away. “Here, let me spell it out for you. V. I. C. E. A. D. M. I. R—”

His heart drops. “Shit,” he whispers.

When he’d been accepted, they’d sent a complimentary, congratulatory message to him. Had he pulled that message up last night? Had he mentioned it to Bones? Anyone? Had he talked in his sleep about it?

“The poison got to your head more than I thought,” Bones mutters. “Figured you’d get it by the time I got to the ‘c,’ at least, Jim.”

“So I'm a little slow this morning—”

“—afternoon,” Bones interjects without missing a beat.

“—but I changed my mind about the promotion, Bones,” Jim replies, looking down at his hands. “It’s not...what you think.”

“But it is,” Bones stresses, his drawl long gone from his voice. “You had to have thought about this for a long time, Jim, had to put a lot of time into your application.”

The vanishing drawl makes Jim want to ask him about his mother, just to hear that warm, honeyed voice again. But he holds both his breath and his tongue. It’s obvious he’s in some serious shit with Bones.

“This is what was bothering you? Before you forced me to fly that damn spaceship?” Bones continues.

“Spock is the one who suggested you fly it in the first place, Bones,” Jim says pointedly. “Not me.”

“A technicality.”

“You flew the ship spectacularly, Bones, just like I always knew you could fly a ship,” he adds. “You overcame your aviophobia. And then saved me. Again.”

Silence hits the room as Bones glowers at him.

It was the wrong thing to say, and he should've known better. He can’t take it back, but maybe he can make it better.

He stares back at Bones apologetically. “I’m...guessing you don’t want me to call you my knight-in-shining-armor, though that’s exactly what you are,” he says honestly, putting all jokes aside.

Is he flirting with Bones again? He presses his palm to his forehead, willing his mouth to stop. Halfway through their mission, two and half years, and he is still a coward. Unable to confess his feelings—or anything—to Bones.

It’s getting harder and harder to live with him on the ship, knowing that Bones won’t swing his way, not for all their camaraderie and friendship. He’d never given Jim the indication that he wanted more, and he’d never shown overt interest in men before, either. Jim is too afraid of ruining their friendship by trying for more with him. He needs Bones like he needs air, and as co-dependent as they are on each other, he doesn’t want to take the wrong step.

Backing away had seemed like a better option than destroying a friendship that could actually last if he’d do the right thing, more or less grounding himself on a starbase.

Bones draws a long breath. “Don’t, Jim…”

Jim quickly steers the conversation away in a different direction. “And, anyway, you know what they say, ‘always do sober what you said you’d do drunk.’”

Bones blinks. “Huh?”

“‘Always do sober what you—”

“I know what you said, just where did you hear that? And why bring it up now?”

“My grandmother always quoted my grandfather as saying it, and he stole it from Ernest Hemingway,” he says, pulling himself up again. “You know, the twentieth century wri—”

“I know who he is. I’m just surprised you can coherently quote a famous writer in the state you’re in.” He pauses. “I took readings of your vitals several more times this morning and gave you a sedative, in addition to the second round of the antidote. That’s why it’s so late.”

“Thank you,” he says quietly. He winces, feeling a flash of guilt for being so much trouble. “I’m sorry...that happened. You have better things to do than—”

“Caring for my captain? Which is my job?” Bones asks, a hint of incredulity in his voice.

“Well…” He scratches his head. “Yes.”

Bones sighs heavily. “Not your fault, but you’re welcome.”

Jim scoots back on the bed, the sheet falling off his shoulders. Bones’s expression softens for a split second, his eyes following the sheet, the lines and curves of Jim’s body. His heart skips a beat, the attention causing that spark of hope to burn in his belly. What he wouldn't give to see those eyes burn a hole through his own...

He swallows nervously and stops his wayward thoughts, gathering the sheet so it pools at his waist. For some odd reason that he can't explain, he’s strangely self-conscious about his nakedness. And it isn’t the first time that the feeling has prevented him from getting out of bed, and dressed, when Bones is present. At first, he’d chalked it up to maturity. Then to the fact they have absolutely no privacy on the Enterprise and he needs some semblance of it, even it front of his best friend. But now, he’s certain it’s something else.

“That quote, why I bring it up now?” Jim begins nervously. “The last shore leave, when we hit that bar, you said you’d fly a ship. And you were drunk,” he rambles on. “But a couple of day ago, you weren’t, and you flew and so….”

His voice trails off at the stricken look on Bones’s face. On second thought, maybe he isn't steering the conversation away from Bones’s heroic moment after all. He’s leading him like one leads a thirsty horse to a river to drink. He’s giving him mammoth-sized breadcrumbs, straight to it. He has no tact, whatsoever.

He kneads the ache at his temple. “I...I think I need that hangover cocktail of yours, too,” he says hoarsely. “If you have it.”

The hypospray appears out of nowhere.

“Gah, dammit, Bones,” Jim hisses, slapping the offended spot on his neck. “You’re evil this morning.”

“That's actually for your headache. When were you going to tell me about the promotion?” Bones asks, ignoring the indignant look on Jim’s face. “Drinking loosens your tongue more than most people, Jim, but so did this poison. That said, I don't think you’d actually planned to say a single word to me last night about this.”

Jim sighs, biting his tongue so he doesn’t fuck this up more than he obviously already has. “I...don’t know.”

It's an honest answer, but by the glint in Bones’s eyes, not the right one.

“What do you mean you don’t know?” Bones asks exasperatedly.

“I mean I don’t know.”

“How could you not fucking know, Jim? Were you planning to tell me the day you were leaving? Or the day _after_ you left?” Bones asks, his voice low and, for all the tension in the room, as controlled as he’s ever heard the doctor speak. “Were you even going to give me a chance to find a position here at the starbase, too?”

Jim's heart races. Bones would've stayed with him if he’d taken the desk job? That’s the exact reason why he’d never told him. He doesn’t want to make Bones do anything. He doesn’t want to be the reason that Bones leaves a ship and crew that he’s become a part of, too. He’s the soul, the life that keeps it together.

He’d thought it’d be better to make this decision on his own. They weren't together romantically, anyway, as much as Jim had begun to obsess about it.

“I don’t know,” he repeats slowly. “I...was still working through things, Bones. My...plan.”

A plan that had no substance at all, save for this feeling of being lost he’d had for some time. The irony is that he’d be lost even more without Bones, and that is why he’d even considered running to something he had hoped would fill that void in the first place.

Bones’s face turns to stone. “I see. And did you tell Spock? I'm pretty sure you didn’t.”

“No.” Jim says, his anxiety rising. “But I did recommend to Commodore Paris that Spock take my place as captain of the Enterprise.”

Bones flinches.

Jim can’t bear the hurt on his friend’s face.

Without thinking, he slips off the bed. “Like I said,” he says hoarsely. “I was still working through things, Bones. I didn’t want to leave, but I felt...lost. I wasn't sure if this—being a captain—was what I wanted to keep doing. Please believe me.”

The moment he stands, he realizes his next mistake—he’s wearing nothing but very tight, skimpy briefs. Most likely, his near-nakedness is a result of him sweating off a fever last night. But how would he know? He can’t be sure since he doesn’t remember a thing about being poisoned in the first place. He stands practically in his birthday suit, which seems fitting enough, expecting Bones to roll his eyes. Order him to get his clothes on. Something. He doesn’t. He doesn’t even look at Jim.

If standing here like this hasn’t shocked him, Bones really is upset.

He stands up straighter, still waiting for Bones to grumble about his state of undress—but he doesn’t. It’s like there’s a wall between them.

Bones rises to his feet and tosses the PADD onto the bed. “I think I'll find Sulu and his family, see how much Demora has grown,” he says in monotone. “If you happen to need me…you know where to find me.”

Jim’s breath catches in his throat. “Bones, please don't leave mad.”

“I’m not mad, Jim,” Bones says quietly. “I’ve watched you struggle, I’ve endured it with you all these years. I’ve struggled, and you’ve endured it with me all these years. Because that’s what we do. We drink to your father every Kelvin Day, we do nothing on the day my father died, as is my wish, save for the look you give me on the bridge when our shift begins. I’ve laughed with you, cried with you, hit you over the head with common sense once or twice, and you’ve pulled my head out of my own ass, as well. And for the record, you’ve saved my life more than I’ve saved yours. We know each other Jim. Or, we did.”

Bones looks ups, a guarded expression on his face that Jim longs to wipe away, replacing it with the warmth he’d shown to him last night.

“But this…” Bones says, voice dark and hushed, Jim willing to do anything to make it light again. “This shows me that we don’t know each other at all.”

Jim has to fight down the emotion swelling in his chest in order to sound like an adult who's not panicking. “But we do, Bones,” he whispers. “Please.”

Bones shakes his head. “And I don’t know if it’s my fault—or yours. Maybe it’s both. But I have figured out one thing.”

“Yeah?” Jim’s hands are sweating by his side. “What...what is that?”

Bones backs away, his gaze sweeping Jim up and down as if he’s noticing for the first time that he’s almost naked. He blinks, hand cupping his chin, his gaze softening like it had before.

“Bones?” Jim whispers.

Bones’s hand drops, his expression now cold like the biting, unforgivable winters in Iowa. It’s such an abrupt shift on his face that Jim takes a step back, unnerved that his best friend could appear hot one minute and then cold, the next. Everything Jim says is like a switch, turning Bones off and on.

“I’ll tell you what,” Bones says evenly. “Once you take some time to figure out the same thing, a day or ten, or even five hundred, then we can talk, friend-to-friend. Until then, I am still your doctor who cares about your health.”

Jim furrows his brow, frustrated that Bones is now dropping the subject but more worried that he really wants a break...from him. Despite the fact that Bones appears confident that he'll come to the same conclusion.

He scratches his head, embarrassed he's still confused. “But…how am I...”

Bones’s eyes narrow on him.

“Right,” Jim says breathlessly after a moment. “We’ll talk...when...I figure something out?”

Bones silently grabs a blanket off the bed and shoves it at him, eyes averted. “Before you catch a chill. Sorry about the briefs—inventory was low around here. I'll send Christine up with the third and final dose of the antidote before your meeting with Commodore Paris later this afternoon. She'll draw another blood sample and I will make sure all trace of the poison has been eliminated. You should be fine to meet with the Commodore and the authorities as planned at 1600 hours. If you take it easy.” He turns to leave but pauses. “And that means staying here in your quarters, Jim, until they come and get you,” he adds, without looking back.

“I understand,” Jim says hesitantly, hearing the warning and concern in his voice. “Stay put.”

His back to Jim, Bones merely nods. Jim thinks that one of them should fill the thickening silence, but neither of them do.

Bones walks out the door without saying another word.

Jim thinks he stands staring after him, at the closed door for hours, wondering if it had been his fault, after all, getting himself poisoned for the way he’d just been treated. Yet when he looks at the chronometer, only a few minutes have passed.

He avoids his bed, because now it seems too big and lonely, just like his existence.

He feels like he had before Yorktown.

 _Lost_.

He’d made the decision to remain captain of the Enterprise, realizing that they - Spock, Bones, his crew - are his family and he belongs with them. He’d made the decision after all of their lives had been endangered and they’d worked together to save themselves and thousands—possibly millions—of others. Never realizing for one minute that it’d been his heart, and now Bones’s, that had been endangered long before that mess and right before his very eyes.

The room is suddenly stifling, Jim reaches for his comm.

“Kirk to Commander Spock,” he says into it, wiping the sweat off his neck with the back of his hand.

“ _Captain, are you well?”_

“I'm fine now, Spock. Mostly. Feel up to a visitor?” he asks.

“ _Captain, I have been told that you are not to leave your quarters. We must take precautions.”_

“Yeah, Bones told me about the guard,” he says. He feels like an idiot again for not even recalling what had happened to him and why he needs security at his door in the first place. “I’ll wait for you to come to me. Just give few minutes to get dressed. I need…”

“ _Captain?"_

Jim sits carefully on the edge of his desk chair.

“ _What is it that ‘you need’?”_

He breathes in slowly. He doesn’t need a thing, not in the normal sense. But Spock might, grieving the loss of the Ambassador. In fact, so might Jim. His own connection with the Ambassador had been one he isn't sure he could truly explain to anyone. Maybe together they could find peace with his death. He won’t talk about Bones. He’ll leave that for another day. Right now, he wants to be a friend because Bones—he won’t let him be one to him, and it’s already left a hole in his heart.

“To be a friend,” he decides to say. “To say...thank you.”

The pause that follows is comfortable, as if Spock knows that he needs this silence to clear his head. It continues for another minute and, already feeling better, he sighs into the comm. “But if you’d rather not—”

“ _I will come to your quarters in twenty minutes,”_ Spock interjects swiftly.

“Thank you, Spock. The door’s open. Kirk out.”

He showers and, after spying the pile of neatly folded clothes at the foot of his bed, dresses as quickly as he can. As he fixes himself a cup of coffee, he can’t resist.

.

.

_Message sent to Leonard H. McCoy from James T. Kirk. Timestamp 1328._

_Bones?_

_I am sorry._

_For whatever it is that I’ve done to hurt you._

_Give me another chance?_

_-Jim_

.

.

His comm beeps when he’s pacing, while he waits for Spock. Headed for his table, Jim barely has enough time to read Bones’s reply, and his heart to sink to the floor, before he sags against the wall to prevent himself from falling. Completely disoriented, he doesn’t know where he is or why—but remembers he was close. Close to something.

Sweat pouring off his face, his bones feel as if they were being shoved into a mini replicator. He sees a bed in the corner of his eye and, forcing one foot in front of the other another, walks towards the softer landing.

But he has to stop. There is no beginning, no ending, to the pain.

His comm falls from his fingers, forgotten. His coffee drops from his hand, forgotten. Nothing is familiar to him. His thoughts jumbling in his panic, his body sways.

His body is hot. So very hot. He's suffocating. He's burning. He’s dying. He’s reckless. He's living. He's still reckless. He’s running. He's barely living. He's starving. He's running again. He's living but he’s absolutely terrified. He’s rebellious. He’s hurting. He’s alone. He’s hiding. He's scared and very, very small.

He crumples to the floor, weightless.

Staring up at the dangerously, high ceiling above him, he can't make sense of it or of the heat spreading through his body...

He whimpers.

...or the strange place he’s in without his mother.

Tears slide down his tiny cheeks.

He’s... _lost_.

. 

.

_Message sent to James T. Kirk from Leonard H. McCoy. Timestamp 1331._

_Jim,_

_I need time apart._

_And so do you._

_I just can't talk to you right now, Jim._

_I'm sorry._

_-Leonard_

_._

_._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading! Please, review? 
> 
> This is my "brain break" story from my heavier/angstier WIPs...so I'll be visiting this one in between posts for those two, anxious for the more light-hearted moments between a Little Jim and his crew in this story, though there is definitely a little bit of angst here, too, as you can see. Bones is in for a shock...
> 
> I am on Tumblr as [arrowinthesky](http://arrowinthesky.tumblr.com) . Feel free to look me up. I will follow back. :)
> 
> Until next time. :)


	2. Someone to Hold Me Safe and Warm

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Updating a day or two earlier than I'd planned. Hope you enjoy the read!
> 
> Junker5 and Diamondblue4, thank you for the beta! I am so appreciative of the second and third pair of eyes! ;D
> 
> Warning: very brief mention/inferred child abuse

oOo

  
Chapter Two

Someone to Hold Me Safe and Warm

 

oOo

 

“I must visit the captain, Nyota,” Spock says, setting his communicator on the table in his quarters.

She sits straighter in the chair, eyes drawn with concern as she stares up at him. “I heard a little of your conversation. Is he alright?”

“I have insufficient information to determine his well-being,” he says. “However, he stated that he is ‘fine.’”

She sends him a knowing look. “In other words, you don't believe he is fine at all,” she says, glancing down at her shirtsleeves, which had gathered at her elbows. “I’m not surprised. He had a rough night of it.”

She pulls on one sleeve, tugging it past her wrist. Spock cannot look away from her graceful hands. Ever since their social interaction at Jim’s party, when in her presence, she has intrigued him as she had before.

“You know the captain,” she continued, letting go of her sleeve. “A million different thoughts racing through his mind at once.”

“I am aware of his tendency to both speculate—and calculate.”

She fights a smile and peers up at him through her lashes as she fixes the other sleeve. “Pot, kettle. There must be something on his mind that is bothering him that he isn’t sharing with you.”

Spock silently agrees. Jim had hesitated twice during their conversation. This possibly indicates he is not only concerned with extending his gratitude to Spock, but something else. Or, the poison could be affecting his ability to properly communicate.

“He is recovering,” he says, excusing him. “However, Doctor McCoy expects the traces of the poison to disappear by 1600 hours, the time at which Jim is to meet with Commodore Paris and the authorities investigating the incident.”

“Do you think someone planted it?” she asks quietly. “Deliberately poisoning him with the wrong drink? The trays of drinks were filled for everyone—someone was either very lucky or this was very carefully orchestrated.”

“I cannot say,” Spock murmurs, a crease appearing on his brow.

“But you are worried,” she says, standing as she prepared to leave.

It is illogical, but he cannot think of anything else. Captain Kirk’s presence alone at the starbase had attracted attention, the arrival of the Enterprise anticipated by almost—if not all—of those living here. The recent attack by Krall has resulted in consequences yet to be seen. One such possible consequence, someone who blames the Captain for the danger, doubting his ability to lead his crew and carry on missions. Who is to know whether or not he has an enemy living on the Yorktown?

They have seen no less happen before, Captain Kirk a target for both admiration and condemnation. They have also witnessed various coincidences—phenomena—surrounding their captain, none of which anyone could explain.

“I regret that we cannot continue our visit,” he diverts, no longer desiring to dwell on the potential danger. “After I speak with the Captain, I will be happy to contact you and resume our visit. At dinner, if you are amenable.”

His words clearly take her by surprise. Her breath hitches. “I will look forward to it.”

He escorts her to his door, pausing as it opens and saying nothing as he regards her. He knows no greater fear than when her life is in danger, or his Captain’s. He had again experienced both, as well as witnessed their bravery in the face of danger. However, had he not been a crew member of the Enterprise, it is likely both would have perished. He will not be indecisive in the future. His place is here.

He is gratified that he has chosen to stay, continuing what he knows to ‘feel right.’

Nyota averts her eyes, moistening her lips. “Please give the Captain my best regards. Tell him...I am sorry that his birthday celebration ended so unexpectedly and on a sour note. We should make it up to him, keeping it small, as long as he’s comfortable with the idea.”

It is a pleasing thought. “I will relay your message, Nyota,” he says.

She fingers the pendant he’d given her that she’s wearing around her neck, a contemplative look on her face. “Thank you. And please, Spock, don’t rush on account of me.”

Spock looks at her quizzically.

“I’m sure he needs a friend.” She hesitates. “I hope I’m not speaking out of turn when I say that Leonard was quite upset with himself last night, once he realized what had happened. He told me…”

Her voice trails off, expression now pensive.

“Nyota?” he gently prods her.

She blinks as if to clear her head. “Leonard said that if he had just listened to Jim, making it drinks just between them and a few friends, this wouldn’t have happened. He also told me he should’ve been more careful. He always checks Jim’s drinks before he can even look at them.” Nyota pauses and takes a breath. “But he knowingly let it go last night since it was a private gathering of the crew and he’d screened his drinks ahead of time, giving the barista a short list of what the Captain prefers.”

“I see,” Spock says slowly. “He blames himself.”

Not once, but twice over.

She sighs. “I don’t think he would ever take his feelings of guilt out on Jim, but those two are so close, I’m not sure Jim will be able to miss it.”

He had not taken Jim and Leonard’s keen perception of each other’s thoughts and emotions, and Leonard’s guilt, into consideration. There had been no time to consider it as Spock and Leonard worked around the clock in sickbay in their efforts to formulate an antidote. If what Nyota says is true, Leonard’s likely attempt to protect Jim from learning of his guilt could have the opposite effect of what he desired.

“Thank you, Nyota, for this information.”

“We all care about him, you now,” she murmurs, tucking a strand of hair behind her ears.

“Indeed,” he says.

He’s tempted to move closer, brush against her shoulder, but her bright smile distracts him. Before he can act, she presses a light kiss to his cheek and slips away from arm’s reach. Spock follows her to his door and stops in the doorway, watching as she walks away. Once she disappears around the corner, he steps back into his room, pushing aside all thoughts of pursuing a romantic relationship with her. At least for now.

His conversation with Nyota has caused an unwelcome anxiety to rise in his mind. Desiring to be in optimal mental condition when he speaks with Jim, he dims the lights in his quarters and meditates for ten minutes. With five minutes remaining before he told Jim he would arrive, he decides to take an extended route to his quarters.

Hands clasped behind his back, he strolls past the expansive windows of the building which provides a clear view of their surroundings and the starbase itself. It is an impressive sight of grandeur, but he is interested in a more primitive, natural setting that he is surprised to see from the twentieth floor. He looks beyond the closest street, gaze settling upon a park primed with playground equipment for children. The complex in which Hikaru and Ben Sulu dwell is across the street from this park, a fact which Demora explained to him earlier this morning in much detail as he visited with the Sulus in the lobby. According to the six-year-old, it is her favorite place in Yorktown. According to Ben Sulu, she sits on one of the swings in the far southwest corner to watch the holovids that her father, Hikaru, sends her, tucking her feet under the swing and holding the PADD close.

It is an unusual choice of location to watch such anticipated holovids, Spock surmises as he inspects the corner from afar. But it is a location that invites solitude. He sees no child or adult near the corner with the swings, ninety-four percent of those in the park walking or occupied elsewhere. However, when he narrows his eyes, he sees a mural on the wall near the area Demora liked to play. The mural depicts a scene of birds, trees, and other wildlife, a starship painted in camouflage within the scene itself. It is a picture unlike anything one would find on the Yorktown. He smiles to himself, now understanding what draws her there.

Thinking of starships, and starship captains, his promise to Jim instantly comes to mind. He leaves the window and continues to Jim’s quarters, reaching his room with one minute to spare.

The security guard halts him before he can step up to the door. “Commander,” he nods.

“Captain Kirk is expecting me,” he says to the guard.

The guard looks at him apologetically. “Sir, I must first scan you. Commodore Paris’s orders.”

Spock nods in acknowledgement, remaining still as he is scanned for weapons and substances that could harm the Captain, the guard’s device also identifying him.

The guard steps back when he is finished. “You are free to enter, sir.”

Knowing the computer would alert Jim of his arrival, Spock waits for door to open.

It does not.

Thirty-three seconds having passed, he lifts his comm. “Commander Spock to Captain Kirk.”

Spock expects Jim’s prompt reply, but there is no response.

The guard glances sideways at him. “Sir, he is expecting you?”

“Indeed,” he confirms.

Yet, doubt flickers in his mind. It is probable that Jim fell asleep given the medication he’s been given by Doctor McCoy. Or, he has forgotten about Spock’s impending arrival in the state he is in.

“Commander Spock to Captain Kirk,” he repeats into his communicator.

The guard’s hand is at his waist at his own device. “Try again, sir. If he doesn’t answer, I must call this in.”

“Commander Spock to Captain Kirk,” he says with force.

The silence that follows is illogically foreboding.

He looks at the guard. “Open it,” he says.

The guard’s eyes narrow as he lifts his comm. “Reporting from Captain Kirk’s room. We have a Code Yellow.”

“ _His door will open in twenty seconds…”_ The woman on the other side clips. _“Two more guards are on their way.”_

“Open it,” Spock vehemently demands.

The guard shakes his head. “I'm sorry, sir, but I cannot unless I am accompanied by another guard. It is standard procedure.”

Twenty seconds has never passed so slowly. He places a hand on the wall as if to brace himself, breathing deeply to control his rising anxiety. The Captain would neither forget nor ignore this visit that he had requested, leaving the following, less desirable explanations—he is injured or in danger.

“I am sorry for the delay, sir,” the guard says.

“It is necessary and logically sound,” Spock states in a low voice. “Do not apologize for following protocol.”

He is without a weapon and if there is a breach in security, he would be ill-equipped to handle a dangerous situation, perhaps putting them all at an even greater risk.

“The doctor was the last one to be in the Captain’s quarters,” the guard says, inclining his head toward the door. “According to him, Captain Kirk was doing well.”

Two additional guards approach them, one of whom Spock recognizes as Lieutenant Harris, the assistant head of the security division.

Jaw set, Harris first speaks into his device before addressing Spock. “Harris to Maerger. We’re here.”

“ _Very well, sir.”_

“Commander, our scans indicate he is inside and very still,” Harris says to Spock.

Spock’s heart quickens. “He is alone?”

“Yes,” Harris says, nodding. “But there are devices capable of blocking our scans, as you are probably well-aware.”

The door slides open.

“Remain behind me, sir,” Harris says.

Spock inwardly bristles. He is not accustomed to hiding behind anyone, especially when it comes to the safety of James T. Kirk, but he follows them inside, as instructed.

They are silent and swift as they sweep Jim’s quarters, the first guard going to his bedroom, shaking his head when there is no sign of Jim. Spock glances at Harris, who stands in the middle of the room. The third guard quickly walks to the far side of the room, beyond a table and chairs.

He abruptly stops, drawing Spock’s attention.

“Sir, Commander Spock,” the guard says, his words laced with confusion. “I suggest you come look at this right away.”

Spock spins on his heel and strides across the room towards the guard, reaching the area before Harris. His eyes naturally follow the bent of the guard’s head, his gaze also falling to the floor.

He stops, his breath catching in his throat.

A blond-haired boy who bears an uncanny resemblance to his Captain is curled up in a ball, sleeping in the middle of a pile of gold and black clothing. His breathing is shallow, dried tears on his flushed cheeks, indicating he is ill.

“Is that…?” the guard asks, looking up at Spock in expectation.

Spock takes a small step to avoid startling the child, but it is to no avail. The child’s eyes slowly open, revealing the distinct blue he expected to be there.

He has never seen a holograph of a younger James T. Kirk. Nonetheless, there is no doubt in his mind that this child is, indeed, Captain Kirk.

“Holy shi…” Harris breathes out, catching himself before he finishes the curse. “It has to be.”

The small Captain’s lower lip begins to tremble, his eyes pooling with fresh tears.

“Hello,” Spock says softly, bending at his knees. “Do not be afraid. We will not hurt you.”

Young Jim’s expression fills with fear as he takes in the guards and the weapons they are holding. He shakes his head and tries to bury his face in the oversized gold shirt. He stills, one eye peering out at them.

Spock immediately looks back at the men, glancing pointedly at their drawn phasers. “He is frightened. Please, put them away.”

Harris nods to the other guards, and they put their weapons away slowly, as if trying not to cause the child additional anxiety. Spock keeps his distance but gives the child the opportunity to look at him at eye level.

“Do you know who I am?” Spock asks gently for his sake. It is clear Jim does not know who he is.

Sniffling, the child shakes his head. “N-no.”

“I am Mister Spock,” he says. “What is your name?”

Young Jim lifts his head and stares at his ears with fevered, slightly glazed eyes. “Y-you have pointy ears,” he whispers.

“I am Vulcan.”

“Oh,” the small child says, breaths short. “I’ve never met a Vulcan before.”

“You have nothing to fear from me,” Spock says to reassure him. “We are here to help you.”

“Mommy s-said...never talk to strangers,” he whispers. “And I don’t know you.”

“Your mother is wise to teach you to never to talk with strangers. However, although you do not know me, I do know you, Jim, and you are in need of appropriately sized clothing,” Spock says gently. Jim slides deeper into the haphazard pile, his bare toes peeking out from under the gold command uniform. “I can help you.”

Young Jim’s eyes flicker with wariness. “How do you kn-know my name?”

“I know your mother, Winona Kirk,” he says, stretching the truth. He does not know her, but of her. “Your name is James Tiberius Kirk.”

The boy’s tears fall. “My na-name is J-Jimmy,” he whispers, sniffling. “I don’t feel good. I want my Mommy. I w-want...my M-Mommy. My leg hurts,” he cries.

Jimmy squeezes his eyes shut and shrinks back until his face is hidden by the pile of clothing, his tiny body shaking.

Spock looks up at Harris. “Please contact Doctor McCoy and inform him that he is needed immediately. Do not explain to him or anyone of Jim’s change. I do not want him to worry unnecessarily before he arrives.”

“Yes, Commander,” Harris says. “We will stand outside by the door. Please let us know if you need anything.”

“If you could procure a change of clothing for the child,” he suggests quietly.

“Of course,” Harris replies with a smile directed towards the child hiding in his now-oversized clothing. “I have a boy about his age. I think I know just the size he needs. I will have the clothing delivered immediately.”

When they are left alone, Spock comes closer to Jimmy but does not touch him.

“Jimmy, you have a fever. I believe you are ill,” he says gently, eliciting the child’s attention once more. “I would like to help you off the floor and examine you with the tricorder. Will you allow me to wrap you with a blanket and carry you to the couch?”

“Where’s M-Mommy?” Jimmy asks in a whisper, his words muffled.

Spock hesitates. “She is on a starship.”

“St-starship? Then...I’m l-lost,” he says, his voice shaking.

“You are not lost,” Spock says firmly. “You are entrusted in our care while we are at the starbase called Yorktown.”

“M-Mommy will be worried,” he says, sniffling. “An-an’ Sam…”

“I will send her a message as soon as you are dressed and given an examination by your—a—physician,” Spock says. “Will you allow me to help you?”

After a pause, Jimmy’s head moves up and down.

“I will return,” Spock says softly.

He walks briskly to the bed and removes the top cover. The one underneath is lightweight and would provide Jimmy with sufficient protection without overheating him. He removes it as quickly as he can, not wanting to leave the child alone for any length of time.

When he returns, Jimmy is almost asleep. He barely stirs as Spock guides him to a sitting position and effortlessly pulls the large shirt over his head. His head falls heavily on Spock’s arm, his forehead hot on his skin. He wraps the cover around him and lifts him up in his arms.

Spock stares down at him, disconcerted by the flood of thoughts he is sensing from the child.

_I’m lost. MommywillbeworriedSamwillbesadUncleFrankwillbeangry. I’m lost. Scared. Feel sick. Hot. Lostscaredsick. UncleFrankwillbeangry. Hotscaredsick—_

Spock sends a feeling of calmness through their contact. Soon, Jimmy stares blearily up at him, the blue barely peeking through the slits of his eyes, but otherwise unresponsive. He’s limp in Spock’s arms, his lethargy increasing. His fever is high, Spock estimating it is at least forty degrees Celsius.

“Doctor McCoy says he can be here in five minutes,” Harris says softly from the door.

Spock frowns. Five minutes is too long. His temperature cannot rise.

“He’s really sick, isn't he?” Harris asks.

“Yes,” Spock says, pulling the sheet away from Jimmy’s chest, only to see a rash and bruising on his right hip. “However, given the nature of his condition and the Captain’s past history with illnesses, I cannot treat him until Doctor McCoy arrives.”

Unease stirs in his side, and he quickly replaces the sheet over Jim’s torso before Harris sees the darkened, purple areas on the child’s body.

“I think the Captain has running water in here,” Harris says, hesitating. “If I may make a suggestion, take him into the shower with you or draw him a cool bath. I have done the same with my son when he had a high fever.”

Spock quickly considers the idea. It is the best option, given the precariousness of Jim’s condition, the numerous variables which might prohibit them giving him medication at all for his fever. “I will do as you suggest. Please send Doctor McCoy in as soon as possible.”

He walks with the small Captain in his arms to the bathroom, relieved that Jim had a shower, at least, with running water like Harris had thought.

“I must lower your body temperature,” he explains quietly to the boy, who is still looking up at him. “I cannot give you a bath as there is no bathtub in these quarters, but I will hold you.”

Jimmy slowly blinks. “‘Kay,” he slurs.

Spock slips off his shoes and socks while holding Jimmy close to his chest. He’ll be fully clothed as he holds him under the lukewarm shower, but it is a small sacrifice to pay for comforting the child. He removes the sheet from Jimmy’s slight frame right before he steps under the rushing water.

The water slips over Spock’s body and onto the child in his arms. He adjusts his stance in the shower so Jimmy is not receiving a blast of water directly to his face, rather a light cascade over his head. Head bowed but tucked against Spock’s chest, he squeezes his eyes shut. His small hands loosely clutch Spock’s shirt.

They stand under the water for several minutes. Spock continues to calm him through their contact, suppressing the fear rising in the child. Jimmy involuntary shivers but, otherwise, does not make a sound.

Until a shadowy figure outside the shower stall opens the door.

“Doctor McCoy,” Spock says softly, water running into his mouth.

Leonard stares in shock at Spock in his wet clothing and the naked, blonde child with wet, matted hair that he's cradling in his arms.

“Doctor McCoy,” he repeats, nearly sputtering.

Leonard does not respond. He stares unblinkingly at Jim.

“Doctor McCoy,” he repeats for a third time.

Spock will never forget the moment Leonard’s expression breaks.

“Sweet Jesus,” the doctor finally whispers, his eyes filling with pain. “Jim?”

Jimmy whimpers and burrows into Spock’s chest. Spock covers the child’s face with his hand, protectively shielding him from the water that had begun to stream over his head and into his eyes.

“You did good, Spock,” Leonard says, his voice wavering. “Bringing him in here with a fever like that.”

Leonard’s gaze drops to the middle portion of Jim’s body, his side, which is partially covered by Spock’s own hand. He freezes.

“No,” he whispers. “Is that…?”

He reaches out, his fingers brushing against the bruise on the boy’s hip that shows from under Spock’s hand. Jimmy flinches away from the touch, squirming as a small cry escapes his lips. Spock instinctively tightens his hold on their now child-Captain.

“Hush,” Spock soothes him. “No one will hurt you.”

Leonard sucks in a breath and slowly pulls his hand back, his eyes wet, expression crushed. If his sorrow is from the bruise on Jim’s hip or the boy’s reaction to him or the fact that his best friend is now a child—or all three—Spock cannot determine.

“Damn bastard,” Leonard says hoarsely, staring at the bruise for another moment.

Spock is uncertain as to whom he is referring. Nonetheless, it leaves a distaste in his mouth.

Eyes tormented, Leonard looks up and meets Spock’s steady gaze. “Let’s get him to sickbay.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading! Please, review? 
> 
> I'll be updating another story this week, but will come right back to this one with Bones's POV and more Little Jim. So it shouldn't be too long. :)


	3. When Did I Lose You

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you, Diamondblue4 and Junker5, for the beta! *HUGS*
> 
> I forgot to mention when I started posting that, in this verse, Bones and his ex-wife never had children. There is no Joanna. Hopefully that doesn’t disappoint any of you, but it certainly simplifies things for me as I write in regards to the plot of this story. (Or, if you wish, you may believe she exists but Bones lost custody of her in the divorce and never speaks of her. But, honestly, I did not want to do that here.) Since there isn’t any mention of her in the reboots, I figure it’s a toss-up. I’ve always written her as ‘existing’ in my other stories, so this is a first for me.
> 
> Warning: implied/referenced child abuse. I thought I’d tagged this story with that but apparently a few of my tags went missing. I’ll be adding it now.
> 
> Although I do research and try to make things as plausible as I can, I’ll be taking some liberty throughout this fic concerning science/medicine.
> 
> Chapter three starts off in Leonard's POV, beginning soon after Harris contacts him regarding Jim. Hope you enjoy the chapter!

 

 

oOo

 

Chapter 3

  
When Did I Lose You

 

oOo

 

 

Leonard’s no fool when it concerns Jim—except in matters of the heart.

The second he’d stepped out of Jim’s quarters, every bone in his body screamed at him to turn around and apologize for giving him the cold shoulder and, for once and for all, speak openly with him.

He’d wallowed in his self-pity instead. Deep guilt that his negligence at the party had nearly killed Jim keeping him from going back. The fear of rejection and of destroying a friendship stopping him from proclaiming his love. His weak justification that Jim needed time apart, sparing himself from vulnerably baring his heart.

No, he’s nobody’s fool, if one took all of that out of the equation. But he is single-minded, especially when it concerns Jim’s health. When not one but three guards are positioned in front of Jim’s quarters, he immediately recognizes that something is seriously wrong. A man, who looks to be about his own age, guards the door to Jim’s quarters, while two others flank him. He assumes that he’s Lieutenant Harris, the very one who notified him of this ‘emergency.’

He picks up his stride.

“You are Doctor McCoy, I presume?” the Lieutenant asks once Leonard reaches the door.

“I am,” Leonard says.

“I’m Lieutenant Harris,” he says with a clipped nod. “Spock is with the Captain now, but if I could first have a moment of your time.”

A moment of his time? “Correct me if I’m wrong, but I thought this was urgent,” Leonard asserts. “If it is, perhaps we should postpone our talk.”

Harris stands, stoic and unmoving. “I’m afraid I can’t let you in yet.”

“If this involves Jim and is a medical emergency, which I’m guessing is the case, you have to let me through,” he says pointedly, nodding towards the door. “In fact, I outrank you, Lieutenant. You contacted me, requesting that I return to Jim’s quarters as soon as possible. Yet, here you are stalling.”

“It’s in your best interest that you take a moment and listen to what I have to say,” Harris says. “Commodore Paris suggested—”

Leonard lifts a brow. “The Commodore?”

“Yes, given the nature of this incident, it was necessary to alert her of the situation. She suggested you take a moment to prepare yourself. As assistant head of security and also part of this investigation, I insist that you make sure your head is on straight before you see the Captain.”

He narrows his eyes at the unprofessional insult. “My head on straight?”

“Circumstances dictate that we look at this from all angles, and quickly, Doctor McCoy,” Harris says in a low voice. “Our investigation is continuing, even now. His comm has been confiscated for investigative purposes and holos of the scene already taken. I’ve been informed that Captain Kirk’s comm was open to his most recent message. Yours.”

The implication that his message has something to do with this incident, whatever it is, is gut wrenching. “I did send him a message,” he admits quietly. “I’ll be honest and say I’m not happy that our private life is being looked into.”

Harris looks at him apologetically. “I’m sorry for the intrusion, but as part of this ongoing investigation, it was necessary. We believe the message came through just seconds before...” Harris hesitates.

“Before what?” he asks, losing his patience.

“We’re not sure what happened,” Harris says under his breath, “but the Captain is...no longer himself.”

A knot grows like an annoying weed in the pit of his stomach. “What do you mean?”

“There’s no easy way to say this,” Harris says softly. “Your captain has regressed in age. He is now a child, Doctor McCoy.”

The air collapses around him, his throat shrinking along with it. “Excuse me?” he chokes out. “I thought I heard you say Jim is a child.”

“That’s exactly what I said,” Harris says quietly. “And given what was in that message to Captain Kirk, I feel obligated to ask that you treat him with care, to give yourself a moment before you enter his quarters and see him for yourself. Pardon my candor, but the Jim you last messaged is not the Jim in these quarters. Please put whatever it is that is going on between the two of you aside, for Jimmy’s sake.”

“Jimmy?” he echoes.

Harris nods. “He told us his name is Jimmy. He does not remember his life before he regressed, only the short time of his past up until his current young age.”

“How old?” he asks with more control than he’s actually feeling, ignoring any further discussion about his damn mistake of a message to Jim.

It doesn’t matter that Jim has missed all his signals, or that he is blind to the fact that he cares for Leonard. What kind of friend sends their Captain and supposed best friend a message that says stay the hell away? Or doesn’t give a man a second chance?

He imagines Harris thinks he should be stuck to the bottom of someone’s shoe. He has to agree that it might be the best place for him, given his folly.

But Harris’s expression softens, giving credence to his claim that Jim had regressed in age. “I believe him to be three or four years of age. However, compared to my own son, he seems a bit thin. I’m having a change of clothing sent up. Loose clothing. He’s feverish and probably won’t be comfortable in anything that’s restrictive.”

The last sentence sends him into action.

“I need to examine him immediately,” he says, voice hushed. “This could be related to the drink he ingested last night, but if it isn’t, it won’t be any less dangerous. Jim has a lifetime of allergies and complications, Lieutenant, that could also be a factor. The sooner I see him, the sooner I can bring Captain Kirk back to us.”

“Yes, of course.” Harris steps aside, but clutches Leonard’s arm as the door slides open, holding him back. “One more thing. He’s frightened and sick, and believes he is lost, which is a disastrous combination for such a young child,” he says, eyes filled with concern. “I’m certain the Commander has used his touch telepathy to calm him. He has him in the shower to try to cool him down.”

There is no doubt in Leonard’s mind that Harris is a loving, doting father to his own children. The reprimand he’d given him hurts, but he can’t fault him for it. On the contrary, it’s a relief that someone else shows deep compassion for the situation and, most of all, for Jim.

“Thank you,” he says humbly.

“If you need anything, just let us know,” Harris adds just before Leonard enters Jim's quarters.

He squares his shoulders and heads for the bedroom and the adjoining bathroom. He doesn’t hesitate once he’s at the shower door, though he’s half-afraid Spock stripped before taking Jimmy in with him. He holds his breath and opens it.

Water sprays onto his face, but it’s of no consequence.

He sees nothing but the angelic-looking, blonde-haired child in Spock’s arms. The child that is, without a doubt, his best friend.

“Doctor McCoy,” Spock says.

He’s silently screaming on the inside that this is a joke. Jim is an adult. A fully grown, capable adult. He’s not a boy. Not a child. Especially not a child who looks to be hardly older than a babe.

“Doctor McCoy,” Spock says, spitting water out of his mouth.

He’s close to wallowing in self-pity again. He wants Jim, came to his quarters to see him. To fix him.

But this innocent, beautiful, blue-eyed child? He is not Jim. He is small and scared. He’s...helpless.

He’s certain that his heart is bleeding out. This can’t be real. He’d left these quarters, giving Jim time to come to the same conclusion as he had. That he _loves_ him. He came back, hoping that Jim had figured it out and all would be well between them.

But this child knows nothing of that. He knows nothing of his past life. All he knows is that he’s unwell, being held in the shower to cool down. That he might even be lost.

His heart cracks more, softening towards this child that he suddenly wants to cradle in his own arms and protect from the world.

“Doctor McCoy.”

Spock’s voice is harsher, snapping him out of his shock and back into the real world.

This small, innocent Jim needs him like never before and it is his duty to care for him as best as he can.

“Sweet Jesus,” he whispers once he finds his voice. “Jim?” he asks, holding on to an illogical sliver of hope that Spock will tell him differently.

But the Vulcan doesn’t deny it.

Jimmy whimpers, tucking his head into Spock’s chest as if to hide. It’s not right that he hides from him, his best friend, but the fear is unmistakeable.

The water streams down the boy’s face and Spock lifts his hand, holding it carefully over Jim’s face to shield his eyes.

There’s something that nags at his mind, what he thinks he saw when he opened the shower door but had been too shocked to focus on. He quickly looks over Jim’s bare skin, what he can see of it. It doesn't take him long to find it—the bruise, the rash dipping lower onto his legs and buttocks.

“No,” he whispers, heart sinking when it’s confirmed. “Is that…?”

Jim didn’t have a bruise like that on his body. The only way he could have the bruise...is if someone had put it there.

It mesmerizes him and he reaches out, gently touching it. Jimmy squirms away from his fingers, and Leonard is snapped into reality again.

“Hush,” Spock whispers in Jimmy’s hair. “No one will hurt you.”

Leonard sucks in a breath. He slowly pulls his hand away, understanding dawning. Jim is afraid of him. He’d approached him too fast, scaring him.

He’d known better. He prays it isn’t a mistake that will cause Jimmy to distrust him. Because it’s ultimately Frank’s fault Jim flinches away. It’s Frank’s fault this bruise looks like it hurts. It’s all Frank’s damn fault.

His eyes grow wet, and it’s not from the stream of water.

“Damn bastard,” he strangles out before he can think twice.

He lifts his eyes to Spock. Does he see the devastation on his face that he feels in his heart? It’s overtaking him, but he can’t allow that to happen. He’s a doctor and a damn good one who’s faced bigger challenges than this. There has to be a way to fix this.

“Let’s get him to sickbay,” Leonard says, stating the obvious to help himself focus on his duty.

“We must clear the way,” Spock says, his hand dutifully shielding Jim’s—Jimmy’s—eyes from the water. “To do otherwise is unacceptable. He will be frightened.”

It’s on the tip of his tongue to ask if Spock knows he’s frightened by _him_. But he pushes the question aside. Now isn’t the time to wallow in the tragic aftermath of his own actions or throw a pity party that the man he loves is, essentially, displaced at the moment.

He has a child to care for. Jim. A three or four-year-old little boy, for God’s sakes.

He nods. “I’ll take care of that, or ask Harris to. He’s still here. First, however, I’ll grab a few towels. Stay right where you are, Spock,” he orders. “Under the water with him so he doesn’t catch a chill.” He hesitates. “So that you don’t either, for that matter.”

“Agreed,” Spock says, but it’s obvious where his focus lies—on Jim.

Leonard briefly closes his eyes as he turns. He doesn’t even know where to begin with this. Jim, a child? How? Had it been the poison? The antidote? Something else altogether? Why the fever? Is it a side effect of the age regression?

And that bruise...that isn’t from any injury Jim had sustained two days ago. Neither is the rash something he’d had before, either. There is only one, logical conclusion to explain the bruise, and it squeezes the life from his heart.

 _Frank_.

He stands at Jim’s closet nauseated, and reaches for two towels, but grabs three. He sets one on the bed beside his tricorder, considering how a man like Frank could still be living. And not only living, but dwelling in that same damn house where the crimes had been committed.

Had Winona learned nothing?

Her brother might have gone to prison for twelve years, but he’d also rehabilitated after his release. Supposedly.

Jim never went back to see for himself.

And why would he? He’d have to be out of his ever-lovin’ mind to breathe the same damn air as the man who’d abused him. Besides, Winona never made it a point to step foot in her own home, hardly visiting Earth in the first place. Maybe that’s why she doesn’t care that Frank, one of her last living relatives, dwells in her old house. Jim had always thought it was the way his mother could ease the guilt in her own mind that her brother was a monster—not abandon him completely, but allow him to stay at the house while she moved on the best she could.

Leonard never liked that explanation, but he kept quiet. It was like no one seemed to care what Jim’s thoughts were on the matter.

He grabs a shirt and a pair of sweatpants that tie at the waist from Jim’s drawers and sets them on the bed for Spock to change into later. He dashes back into the bathroom at the same time he sees Harris from the corner of his eye, entering the bedroom with a pile of clothing in his arms. He doesn’t have time to acknowledge him and wordlessly heads for the shower.

Leonard places one towel on a hook on the wall beside the shower stall. “That’s for you, Spock. I know the water temperature is far from ideal.” He takes a breath and unfolds the other towel while looking at Jimmy, who was peeking through Spock’s fingers over his face at him. “Alright, time to switch.”

“Computer,” Spock states. “End shower.”

The water fades away. Jimmy already shivers in the cool air, droplets of water on his lashes.. After placing the towel on his shoulders, letting much of it drape and pool into his hands, Leonard smiles at his now tiny Captain.

“Time to get dry, Buddy,” he says softly. “I’m Doctor McCoy, and I will be taking you to sickbay, where we will help you feel better.”

Jimmy shrinks back.

“You look like a big boy,” he says, undeterred. “Did you recently have a birthday? Maybe...yesterday?”

Leonard can’t describe the relief he feels when Jimmy’s eyes brighten. He’d gambled on the birthday, but the timing seemed too perfect.

“Let’s see,” he says slowly. “You must be...five?”

Jimmy shakes his head.

“Four?” Leonard says softly.

The small Captain nods, a shy smile growing on his face.

“You _are_ a big boy,” he breathes, holding his hands out with the towel, wanting to hold on to that smile forever. “Did you have cake?”

“Uh-huh. Hoshi made my cake,” Jimmy whispers.

Spock lifts Jimmy up and Leonard promptly takes him from Spock’s arms, swiftly wrapping the towel around the child’s body.

“Hoshi,” Leonard repeats, recalling the kind woman, a linguist, who’d most likely given Jim the only few happy memories he had of his childhood. “I bet she made you your favorite. She stays with you sometimes, doesn’t she?”

Jimmy wriggles in his arms, but not for long. Leonard holds him close, adjusting the towel around his face so he can see his surroundings better.

“Uh-huh.” He looks up at Leonard then back at Spock, eyes watery and pleading. “Don’t feel good, Mister Spock.”

“The doctor will care for you,” Spock says softly. “You do not need to be afraid of him.”

Jimmy turns his head away from Leonard, but Leonard does not relent. “I know you’re feeling sick, Jimmy,” he breathes, carrying him to the bed. “But you will feel better soon, I promise.”

He lays him down, drying him with the second towel with tender thoroughness. As he does so, he takes a closer look at the rash, the small bumps accompanying it, which he now sees is also on Jimmy’s hands and feet.

Jimmy sniffles, bringing his hand up to his face. Leonard grasps it before he can slip his fingers in his mouth. The child cries out, struggling with his limited strength.

“I’m sorry, Jimmy,” he says gently, not letting go of his wrist. “But no fingers in your mouth. You have a rash on your hand and I don't want it to spread.”

The boy’s tears fall, coursing down his cheeks and onto the towel beneath him. His lower lip wobbles more, but he allows Leonard to guide his hand down by his side.

“You’ll be alright, Buddy,” he soothes him, stroking his hair back though he tries yet again to squirm away from him. “We’ll find something for you to hold to get your mind off your fingers. What’s your favorite stuffed animal?”

Jimmy stills at the question. “B-Bunny,” he whispers. He sniffles, eyes wide and wet.

He smiles softly at him. “A bunny. I think we can come up with that.”

“Doctor?” Spock says from behind him just as he’d reached for his tricorder. “What is this rash on his body?”

“Hand, foot, and mouth disease,” Leonard explains without looking back, even before the tricorder confirms it for him. “It rarely shows up on the legs and buttocks, but you know Jim. He has to be the rare case,” he adds in a mutter.

He waits, taking in the additional readings, some of which he’d assumed instantly when he first saw Jim in his child state. Malnourishment. Dehydration. Low level of electrolytes. A temperature of 39.8 degrees Celsius.

And more that he will have to contend with once they’re in sickbay.

He sets down the tricorder and grabs the underwear from the pile of clothes that Harris had left on the bed for Jimmy and begins guiding it up past the child’s feet. “I’ll help you get dressed now, Jimmy, then we will make our way to sickbay.”

But Jimmy isn’t listening. His eyes are glazed and drooping as he stares up at the ceiling.

“Poor kiddo,” he whispers, tugging the underwear up to his hips, being careful of the large bruise. He sighs, shaking his head as he reached for the shirt next. “Jim received the vaccine for the disease when he was a kid, but whatever caused this, might have reversed…”

His voice trails off as he considers what could be the wildest explanation he’d ever theorized for a medical problem.

Jim had had to be vaccinated all over again after Tarsus. Could the regression have undone all of that? Going backwards, reversing the vaccinations for a second time? It made sense, in a radical way. If so, why hadn’t the irradiation had the same effect? Had Jim actually felt these things happen to him all at once when he’d regressed?

He inwardly shivers, stopping before he gets ahead of himself before he’s even studied Jim’s blood.

“I have reason to believe he’s highly susceptible to numerous viruses and diseases right now, Spock,” he says swiftly. He curves his arm around the base of Jimmy’s neck, lifting the boy’s head off the bed to tug the shirt down over the upper part of his body. Jimmy is even more lethargic, so he’s not surprised that his arms are limp and a dead weight as he pulls them through the armholes. “I’ll have to contain him in sickbay, take all precautions while we give him all of his vaccinations.”

 _If_ they could give him vaccines. If they could, it wasn't going to be pleasant but for the sake of their small Captain, it had to be done.

“I’ll know more once we test his blood,” he explains softly, relieved the shirt seems to be a good fit, if a bit on the loose side.

He pauses in the process of dressing Jim and reaches for his communicator. “McCoy to Chapel.”

If he were lucky, she’d be in sickbay, offering assistance. She, of all his staff, hated to be twiddling her thumbs the most.

“ _This is Nurse Chapel,”_ she says.

“I need a child’s extra-small biomask brought up to the Captain’s quarters right away,” he says. “And 6 ml of the fever-reducing med Jim isn’t sensitive to—acetaminophen.”

“ _Child?”_ she repeats.

“Yes,” he affirms. “I’ll explain once you get here. Christine, please don't delay.”

“ _I understand. Chapel out.”_

He sets down his comm and pulls the pants on Jimmy next, being careful of the rash on Jim’s feet. But they’re cool to the touch, in spite of the fever, and he can’t help but envelop them with his much warmer hands.

Jimmy blinks sleepily several times, a light puff of air escaping his mouth. A child-sized happy sigh, Leonard thinks to himself. He folds his hands around the tiny feet even more, gently squeezing them at a few points he knew felt good to Jim as an adult.

Soon, Jimmy’s eyes drift shut. A faint, contented smile crosses his face, enhancing his young, sweet features.

“Well, that’s just adorable,” Leonard whispers. Who knew that he’d like his feet massaged at such a young age?

“Indeed,” Spock says softly.

“He may be four, but he’s a young four. Merely a baby,” he murmurs.

He looks back at Spock, and does a double take. The Commander’s wet clothing sticks to him. He'd also begun to shiver.

“You’re still wet,” he comments guiltily. “I must have forgotten to tell you about the clothes.”

Spock lifts his brows, patting his face dry with the towel. “As I do not have clothing to change into—”

“Yes, you do,” he says. He stands and gathers Jimmy in his arms, this time holding him upright instead of cradling him, allowing his head to rest on his shoulder. “I set that pile of Jim’s clothing there for you to borrow so you can get to your own quarters without leaving a trail of water on the floor. They’ll be a little loose on ya, but you could do worse.”

Spock scoops up the clothing, then pauses. “He is sleeping.”

“Probably for the best,” Leonard says. “Don’t think he’d let me hold him otherwise. He seems to have taken a shine to you.”

“I was the first one to comfort him, that is all.”

“It’s more than that,” Leonard says with a short and humorless laugh.

Spock opens his mouth, no doubt to question him, but Harris appears in the doorway.

“I’ve taken the liberty to clear the way to sickbay. Your escort is ready when you are and will take you to the closest exit, where a shuttle awaits you,” he says. “They will remain with the Captain in sickbay.”

“Is that really necessary?” Leonard asks, frowning.

“This very well could’ve been an accident. However, if this was premeditated, his life is still in danger, Doctor McCoy. The fact that he has regressed in age does indicate that someone could be viciously attacking his very emotional and physical well-being, wanting to torment him over time,” Harris says firmly. “We cannot ignore this at Yorktown. Simply put, we must show that we do not condone threats made to a Starfleet officer—or anyone.”

“If this was premeditated, that person is a sicko,” Leonard mutters.

Spock stiffens beside him. “It is a logical yet rather unpleasant conclusion, Lieutenant.”

“I don’t like the idea of it either, but we will not take unnecessary risks,” Harris says. “Commodore Paris is giving you the equivalent of your own personal bodyguards.”

Leonard still doesn’t like it. Their small Captain is very sick and does not need more eyes upon him, his privacy invaded, than is necessary in sickbay. Especially when he has no idea what past history his current condition is going to dredge up.

“It is logical, Doctor,” Spock says.

Leonard looks at Spock. “Maybe so, but our young Jim is smart. He’ll notice. He’s a brave boy, but I won’t be surprised if their presence frightens him on some level.”

“I’m sorry,” Harris says. “These are my orders, and since your young charge is the Captain, precautions must be taken.”

“We’re ready,” Leonard says. He glances sideways at Spock, mouth firming. “Spock, I could use you in sickbay.”

“I will come to sickbay as soon as I am able,” he says.

“Thank you, Spock,” he says quietly.

He wanders into Jim’s living space, rubbing the small Captain’s back when he stirs. The constant motion seems to soothe the child. He stands there another moment before Christine arrives at the door, out of breath from her rushed journey.

“Lord have mercy,” she gasps, eyes wide as she stares at the child in his arms. “Is that…?”

He sighs. “Yes, it’s undoubtedly our Captain.”

She clasps a hand over her mouth. “Oh,” she says, her cry muffled. “And he’s sick.”

“Let’s get that mask on Jimmy first,” he says quietly. “Then give him the med, Chris.”

She blinks, dropping her hand. She barely finished swallowing before she opened her mouth again to speak. “Jimmy. Of course,” she says, voice strangled.

She adjusts Jimmy’s head on Leonard’s shoulder, then slips the mask over the child’s face.

“I hope this doesn’t wake him up,” she says under her breath, right before she administers the medication. “Poor dear.”

Leonard hopes the same thing. He hates the thought of Jim feeling more hurt than he already is. He plans on sedating him once they get him in sickbay.

Jimmy whimpers at the pinch, his arms tightening around Leonard, squeezing his heart at the same time. He kisses his forehead.

“Shhh,” he whispers. “Go back to sleep.”

Christine worriedly watches the exchange. “The regression in age did more than make him young again. You believe he’s susceptible to illnesses now, don't you?”

He knew she’d catch on quickly. “Yes,” he admits, as Jimmy relaxes in his arms again. He follows Harris outside Jim’s quarters, Christine right behind them. “We can’t take any chances with anything, Chris.”

“The Commodore would like to be notified when she can come to see the Captain for herself,” Harris says before he goes. “She sends her best, however.”

“I’ll contact her when I know more about his condition,” Leonard declares.

“Good luck,” Harris says.

Leonard turns to go, but hesitates. He’d almost forgotten. “We do need a stuffed animal. A bunny. It’s his favorite.”

“How sweet,” Christine murmurs, looking tenderly at the sleeping child.

“A bunny?” Harris rubs his jaw. “I will see what I can do.”

“I imagine you'll find it quicker than anyone else,” Leonard says sotto voce.

Harris smiles. “I love kids, Doctor McCoy. They keep you young. Some days, I dream of retiring early and staying at home with my children. But it's just that. A dream.”

As he turns away to walk with Christine and their bodyguards, he has to agree. Retiring early sounds like a dream.

 

oOo

 

He wakes up feeling funny all over and in a room with hardly any light. The doctor and a pretty lady are by his side in white clothing, talking.

They are talking about him.

“He’s moderately dehydrated, bordering on severe,” the doctor says. “Since the age regression has taken its toll on his body, we’ll begin fluid therapy right away. Then we’ll run blood tests before anything else.”

Too frightened to make a noise, he pretends he’s just hiding in his room, under his bed. Like he does when Uncle Frank is around and Mommy isn’t.

“He’s awake, Leonard,” the lady says softly.

He likes her voice. It’s like the glowing, endless rainbow he sees outside his bedroom window after it rains. He peers up at her, hoping she’ll help him not be afraid.

“Jimmy, we’re in sickbay, just like I told ya you would be,” the doctor says, smiling down at him. “If you feel funny, that’s because I put the bed in stasis. But I’ll undo that right now.”

The doctor pushes a button, the funny sensation he had quickly leaving him. He feels everything now. Being lost. Being scared. He’s still hot, but not as much as before.

Tears collect in his eyes but he sticks out his jaw. He doesn’t want to cry again. “Mommy?” he whispers.

“Did Mister Spock tell you about your mother?” the doctor asks gently.

He nods.

“She is a Commander on a starship, and we will contact her once we’ve given you medication to feel better,” he says. “But, first, are ya thirsty?”

He turns his head, looking out at the rest of the room. He’s the only one on a bed. The only kid. The only one lost. They’d told him he wasn’t lost, but he doesn’t remember how he got here. He must be lost.

“Jimmy, I’d like for you to drink some water.”

The tears fall anyway.

His hip and leg hurts. He wants Mister Spock. “Mister Spock?”

He isn’t sure the doctor likes him.

“Oh, Jimmy,” the doctor whispers, his voice cracking in a way that he doesn’t understand. “He’ll be here to see you in a little while. I’ll just bring the water over to you, anyway, and you can try to drink from the straw.”

His bed moves up so he is sitting up. He’s dizzy and squeezes his eyes shut. A hand brushes along his forehead, also wiping his tears.

When the straw touches his lips, he opens his eyes and obediently sips from it. The doctor looks happy that he’s drinking the water. Like he cares.

He’s confused. Is the doctor nice like Mister Spock?

“I’ll let you drink a little more, but then I will have to sedate you. Do you know what that means?”

He’s never heard that word before. He shakes his head no.

“Okay,” the doctor says, his eyes softening. “It just means we’re going to let you sleep for awhile. When you wake up again, you’ll have what’s called an IV line, a catheter like this, connected to your hand,” he says, holding it up. Jimmy squints at it. It doesn’t look like anything special to him. “Several of them. You can’t move around a lot when you wake up, but they might feel a little uncomfortable. I’m telling you this now, Jimmy, so that you aren’t scared when you wake up.”

“‘Kay,” he whispers, ignoring the straw. He’s too tired to drink anymore.

“The good news is, kiddo,” the doctor says, pulling the water away. “I have your bunny.”

Jimmy looks at him in anticipation, his heart doing a little skip. If he had his bunny, it might seem like home here. Or like Hoshi’s house. Hoshi let him play with her carved animals. Let him drink lemonade. Didn’t mind when he played in mud. And always let him play with the carved bunny most of all. He liked sliding his fingers over the long, curved ears and his bumpy tail.

The nurse hands the doctor the bunny, who then tucks it under Jimmy’s arm.

He burrows his face in it, snuggling it with all he’s worth. Worried that they’d take it away once they ‘sedate’ him, he holds it as tightly to himself as he can, clenching his hand around its softness. It's softer than anything he'd ever had.

“Okay, it’s time to sleep now, Jimmy, now that you have your bunny. I bet you already have a name picked out for him,” the doctor drawls, ruffling his hair.

He nods. He does have a name picked out. But it’s a secret. He’s not telling anyone.

The doctor’s lips twitch like he’s laughing. “I knew you would. You’re gonna feel a little pinch, Buddy, but I promise that’s all you’ll feel,” he says warmly. “And I'll be here when you wake up.”

The pinch hurts but quickly fades like the doctor promised. Then, he’s drifting away like a cloud high in the sky.

He’ll still never tell his bunny’s name. It doesn’t sound like a name for a bunny, but he likes it.

It’s... _Bones_.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for reading! Please, review? :)
> 
> Just a couple of notes...
> 
> Hoshi Sato was a linguist born in the 22nd century. She served on the Enterprise NX-01. My reasons for including/referencing her will come to light in future chapters, as will a better explanation as to how/why Jim knows her.
> 
> For the sake of argument, (most if not all) vaccinations in the ST universe are truly safe. (FYI, I do not want to get into discussions one way or the other about them here, because I know it's a touchy subject IRL.)
> 
> I have a few extra things coming up this week that will shorten my free writing time - but I will try my best to have another update soon. Thank you! :)


	4. Force from the World a Patient Smile

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Whew, sorry that this chapter took a little longer than anticipated. It did give me some grief - it's a little technical, sort of a transitional chapter, but it needs to be done. You will definitely see Little Jimmy, so don't worry. :) I hope you like it!
> 
> Junker5 and Diamondblue4, thank you for betaing the chapter...I appreciate the edits and encouragement so much!
> 
> Warning: ETA: As previously noted, this story will include references to the abuse Jim endured as a child. This is one of those chapters. :(
> 
> This chapter begins in sickbay, with Bones's POV.

oOo

 

 

Chapter 4

 

Force from the World a Patient Smile

 

 

oOo

 

 

“How long will you let him sleep?” Christine asks softly from the foot of Jimmy’s bed.

Leonard glances up from his work at the makeshift desk he’d fashioned beside his young patient, unwilling to work at the desk in the far corner of the room. The four-year-old is fast asleep and oblivious to the flurry of activity centered around him. The regression in age had caused an unfortunate chain reaction. Everything that had been wrong with his body at the time he’d been four is mysteriously wrong now. Not only that, but preliminary diagnostics reveal he lacks antibodies to a number of diseases. His theory that Jim would require his childhood vaccinations is correct.

They’d been in sickbay for an hour, and the activity had only increased as each nurse and technician completed the decontamination process, dressed in scrubs, and joined them in the room. One nurse assists Christine as they monitor Jimmy’s vitals. Others are filling his request for supplies, including the first round of vaccines he hopes to administer safely to the boy within the next twenty-four hours. Still others gather what is required to mend a hairline fracture on Jim’s pelvic bone and another on his femur.

Neither injury had been recorded in Jim’s medical history, and Jim had never mentioned the incident to him, either. He assumes that Jim’s mother or whoever had been watching him at the time of the injury had either been oblivious or turned a blind eye.

But that isn’t the worst of it. Jimmy’s right wrist appears to be crooked, indicating he'd sustained a distal radius fracture in the past. More specifically, the fracture had been unstable. The bone appears to have been broken some time ago, never receiving the necessary proper care for it to heal correctly.

He’d given Jim numerous physical exams over the years. He’d never seen any indication of this in his wrist. He wonders how old Jim had been before a doctor had finally told him about the state of his wrist. It had to have been after Tarsus but before his admittance into Starfleet.

And, now? Thanks to the bastard living in Riverside, he’ll have to grit his teeth and fix it for Jim. Going as far as rebreaking the four-year-old’s bone so he can knit it together the way it should have been in the first place.

Anger rises in his chest as he pictures this innocent, blonde child at the mercy of an abusive uncle. Unable to fight back. Unable to run away, or hide for very long. Left with painful injuries, but no one coming to his aid.

He assumes that as soon as Hoshi had left after celebrating Jimmy’s birthday with him, his uncle had gone looking for Jimmy. Probably stomping up the stairs in a temper. Looming over him in anger, resenting the inconvenience Hoshi’s presence in the house might have caused him.

Were he on Earth and not living in this precarious glass globe in the depths of space, he would have already given Frank a piece of his mind. Winona, too. He doesn’t give a rat’s ass that she holds the title of mother to Captain Kirk or the rank of Commander. In his opinion, she's just as guilty as her brother.

“I wish they’d find a way to guard him unseen,” Christine adds under the breath, glancing pointedly at the doors. “You can see them right from his bed. If it’s enough to unnerve me, imagine what our small Captain will feel about it.”

He tries not to look at the two security guards standing about twenty meters away outside the doors of the containment room and the one inside—but fails to suppress his curiosity. He sneaks a peak, if only to glare at the back of their heads. The security is for Jimmy’s protection, but they make _him_ anxious. He can’t help but think the security is more trouble than it’s worth. He can’t afford to let just anyone know of Jim’s past, especially Tarsus. More so the circumstances surrounding his irradiation and subsequent resurrection. Given the nature of the age regression, the side effects, and the many answers he doesn’t have that his gut instinct tells him are connected to Jim’s past, the secrets Jim has held so close to his chest for years are about to find their way into the open- if he isn’t careful on his behalf.

Commodore Paris has put all that he requested at his disposal, but what he needs the most she can’t give him. Assurance that these security guards and others, such as Harris, are completely trustworthy. And time, enough to ward off the curiosity of headquarters.

He will leave no stone unturned, needing as many trustworthy hands as he can possibly get. He’d already requested the assistance of five additional staff who’d survived the attack by Krall, two of whom were currently going through the sanitation process. He refuses to request further help without speaking to Commodore Paris herself and asking for her recommendations. He’s unwilling to risk Jim’s medical records falling into the wrong hands if there is, indeed, a deranged individual on the loose bent on torturing Jim.

“Considering he hasn’t eaten since the party last night and he’d thrown up all of that—and then some—we’ll wait only four hours before feeding him. Five, tops,” Leonard mutters, staring back down at his PADD. “We do need time to fix the hairline fractures and…”

His voice trails off before he says too much.

Christine cocks her head, expression tight. “Understood.”

He nods, grateful for her tact. The alarm on his PADD sounds unexpectedly. He shifts forward in his chair, frowning at the preliminary blood test results appearing on his screen.

“I’ll make sure we have Popsicles and applesauce ready,” she says.

“Add cinnamon,” he says absently, tapping a finger on the screen.

Save for indications of the hand-foot-mouth disease, and the diagnostics showing that everything was as well as it could be for a malnourished child, the results are, so far, fairly normal. How could this be? The results, so far, are nearly perfect.

In his experience, nearly perfect indicates too perfect.

He sighs. “And make sure there’s a spoonful of peanut butter for him to eat, too.”

“Peanut butter?” she echoes.

“He liked it as a kid,” he explains, his frown deepening.

He rubs his chin, wishing Spock would hurry up and come down to sickbay. After seeing these readings, he’s certain that the mystery surrounding Jim’s regression in age is not going to be solved in a few hours, let alone the next several days.

“I know that look on your face, Len,” Christine murmurs, coming closer. “What is it?”

He drops his hand, glancing up at her. “The blood panel came through.”

She purses her lips. “And?”

Leonard shakes his head. “Other than confirmation of the Coxsackle virus and the fact that Jim is a child not a man, there’s nothing that I can see to help us fix this mess.”

“You’ll find the answers you need,” Christine assures him. “They might not come as quickly as you want, but we are talking about something that completely changed him, including his memories.”

He sinks into his chair. “Right down to his damn birthday,” he mutters.

He runs both hands through his hair and double checks the chronometer. Jimmy had been sedated for forty-five minutes and in sickbay for a little over an hour. Plenty of time for Spock to change and come to sickbay like he’d requested of him.

He isn’t worried—except that he is. Just not about Spock.

From the corner of his eye, he sees Jimmy’s body twitch under the covers. He glances sideways at him and spies ten small, bare toes now peeking out from the blanket. Smiling to himself, he stands and tugs at the cover, pulling it over Jimmy’s feet. Nothing about Jim’s state as a child is convenient or simple, but there is an endearing quality about him that he can’t help but stop and think about.

He suspects that Jimmy will be a bundle of energy once he feels well, which could be in just a few days. He’s also smart, already showing mannerisms and mimicking behaviors of his older self. He’d pretended to be asleep, and if that wasn’t his Jim, he’d eat his hat.

How could anyone have hurt this child?

He tucks the blanket around his legs to keep him warm, though he’ll need to adjust the blanket in a few minutes to treat his hip.

“Why did you and Jocelyn never have children?” Christine asks him softly.

Leonard looks up in surprise. Over all the years they’d worked together, and despite all the camaraderie between them, that issue had never come up.

“She was too busy, and so was I.” He shrugs, hating how callous he sounds. Looking back, he would’ve loved to have had a child if the circumstances had been different. “We thought it best not to rush into it.”

Not rushing had been the best damn decision they’d ever made together. That child would’ve been smack dab in the middle of the mess he and Jocelyn had made for themselves. Not only that, but in the middle of their divorce.

“You’re good with him, Len,” she says.

“He doesn’t like me,” he points out. “Ask Spock. You didn’t see the look on his face.”

“Your bark is worse than your bite,” she quips, bringing the bone regenerator to him. “Besides, I’m sure he’ll warm up to you in no time. You did give him his bunny.”

He smiles, remembering how Jimmy’s face had lit up. “So I did.”

He’d have to thank Harris for finding the stuffed animal so soon, but for now it would have to wait, as he has his own job to do.

“I wanted to wait for Spock, but it looks like we should get this started,” he asserts, catching the eye of another nurse. “Nurse Garver, we’ll work with his pelvis first, then the femur. I’m not entirely sure things will go smoothly if we start with his wrist.”

“Yes, Doctor McCoy.” Nurse Garver walks over to the other side of the bed. “Shall I increase the propofol?”

He nods, typing on his PADD. “And the pain medication. Sending the dosage right—”

The swoosh of the doors cuts him off. He looks up to find Spock dressed in scrubs, staring at the still form of Jimmy on the bed.

“I finished the decontamination process,” Spock states, eyes not leaving the boy. “What is the Captain’s status?”

“You’re late,” Leonard says brusquely. He sets down his PADD and disinfects his hands with the sonic cleaner before donning a pair of gloves.

Spock steps forward. “My apologies, Doctor. I received a call from my father and was unable to shorten our conversation.”

Leonard sighs, already regretting the terse reprimand. “You don’t have to explain. I’m just a little on edge…”

“Doctor?” Spock asks.

Leonard watches as Nurse Garver adjusts the blanket, baring Jimmy’s injured leg and hip. The purple, ugly bruise reveals one of Jim’s worst secrets.

“You know the bastard that did this?” he says through clenched teeth.

Christine breathes in sharply. Nurse Garver freezes, watching him with wide eyes.

Spock straightens his shoulders, pinning him with a dark look. “Do you speak of Frank? Jim’s uncle?”

He narrows his eyes at Spock. “Why do you ask?”

“As I carried Jimmy to the shower, his thoughts transferred to me,” Spock says a hushed voice.

He forces himself to swallow. “And?”

“He believes his uncle will be upset with him for becoming lost.”

The weight of that single statement crashes heavily upon his shoulders. They curve slightly inward, but he is unaware. He can’t wrap his mind around the fact that Jimmy is afraid his uncle will be angry at him about something he can’t control, that's not his fault. That Jim is being forced to relive a little of the horror he’d endured as a child. That he’s simply _scared_.

He can’t speak for a moment and grabs the bone knitter, setting it on the bed, the others waiting in silence for him to begin. He squeezes Jim’s tiny hand, the act more of a comfort to himself than to the boy, who is fast asleep and completely unaware of him.

What else had he endured at this young age? He sure as hell won’t be asking Winona, and Hoshi is no longer living. It left more to his imagination than he is comfortable with.

“Frank is still living,” he says under his breath. “But not in a cell.”

Anger flashes across Spock’s face, indicating he’s putting two and two together.

It isn’t hard to figure out that Frank is free and without a care in the world while the boy he’d harmed is suffering once again from his actions.

Christine places her hand over Leonard’s and peers into his eyes. “Len, Jim is far removed from that life. Jim is here with us. He’s here, under your care. And once the Commander runs more tests, the two of you will figure this out and bring our Captain back to us.”

He brushes a lock of Jimmy’s hair off his forehead. “I know,” he says quietly.

Jim remain a child? This adorable and sweet young boy? Giving his mother a second chance to raise her son, in fucking Riverside?

He won’t allow himself to even consider the possibility.

 

oOo

 

More than three hours later, Spock has only confirmed what they already know.

First, the drink that, on the surface, appeared to have been intended for a member of an unknown alien species and poisoned the Captain had had the 87.5% possibility of killing him had it not been for their prompt response in finding an antidote.

The origin of the drink is unknown, and they have yet to determine all of its ingredients. Now that the captain had regressed in age, each blood sample drawn would contain a diminishing amount of the poison, making identification of its ingredients increasingly difficult.

Jim’s immune system has been compromised. Now, lacking memory cells, his body is extremely susceptible to diseases as Doctor McCoy had predicted.

Jimmy is already ill, a childhood disease attacking his small body. He cannot be allowed to succumb to further diseases or illnesses. Results from additional testing would be impacted by any more complications. In order to formulate an antidote, he should be at optimal health.

Finally, results of the first blood tests are inconclusive, revealing nothing that indicates it caused the age regression. In fact, as Leonard had already discovered, the results are surprisingly normal. As normal as expected for a child who is also malnourished and dehydrated.

“He’ll be waking up soon,” Leonard says from behind him. “He’ll be medicated to ward off any residual pain he might feel in his leg and wrist, so he might be a bit confused.”

Spock redirects his attention from his work to the doctor and turns in his chair. “You are finished,” he says, looking up at the doctor.

“Yes, we are. And he’ll need to see ya,” Leonard continues, worry filling his eyes. “He asked about you before we sedated him, and since I’m medicating him heavily to keep him comfortable, it would be best if you’d be there when he wakes. Like I said before, he could be confused, maybe even anxious. Your presence might help calm him.”

“I will be beside him as he awakens,” he confirms quickly.

“Good,” Leonard breathes out. “Find anything?”

“I have discovered nothing else, Doctor,” he confesses.

Leonard gives a short, dry laugh. “So it’s as if someone waved a magic wand? Then disappeared?”

Spock hesitates. “It appears to be the case, yes.”

“I don’t like this,” Leonard says tersely. “Whatever caused Jim to regress in age can’t be invisible.”

“All the more reason to investigate,” he replies.

“Speaking of investigation,” Leonard says, sighing. “The Commodore will be here to see Jim in about thirty minutes.”

“You will allow her to speak with him?”

Leonard shakes his head, turning towards his patient. “No. She’ll have to remain on the other side of the glass. I won’t overwhelm him with visitors. Besides, I’d rather start introducing him to the crew first when Jimmy is stable.”

Spock quickly stands and accompanies him as he walks to the bed. “I concur that is the best choice.”

“So that means I need to spread word about Jim’s condition,” Leonard adds quietly. “But I’m not sure I can...that I _want_ to be the one to do it.”

Spock doesn't hesitate. “I will inform them of the Captain’s status.”

“Thank you,” Leonard says, reaching Jim’s side. “I'll be spending most of my time here with Jim, anyway.”

“You will not retire to your quarters?”

“If you were me, and if there was any possibility that it was you who caused this to happen, would you leave Jimmy?” Leonard asks flatly, grabbing his PADD off the desk beside the bed. “Let him out of your sight?”

“No,” he answers decisively. “However, neither would I continue to futilely postulate the ways in which I was at fault.”

Leonard scowls and looks at him for a moment before bending over his PADD and typing furiously on it. “I’ve been tapering the propofol so it should be soon,” he mutters. “Five, ten minutes at most.”

“Harris’s investigation will also continue,” Spock says.

“Don’t remind me,” Leonard mutters, sounding dismal.

“You are concerned,” he says, frowning.

“They’re looking into everything, even our comms.”

Spock lifts a brow.

“Mine was confiscated,” Leonard grits out. “I should tell you now that Jim and I...our last conversation before he regressed in age didn't go so well,” he continues, staring down at Jim.

The boy turns in his sleep, the arm uninhibited by the covers flung across his face.

“I do not understand,” Spock says.

“I told him...I didn’t want to speak with him. That I needed time, because…” His voice diminishes, Jimmy’s eyes fluttering open before closing just as quickly.

“Go on,” Spock urges softly.

“I can’t believe I’m telling you this,” Leonard says, voice barely a whisper. “But I will because I’d rather you hear it from me than someone else who has come the conclusion on their own.” He takes a breath, eyes pained. “I...care...for Jim.”

Spock recalls Nyota’s words, the way Leonard carries himself around the Captain, his actions and speech, and immediately understands. “You love the Captain.”

Leonard looks resignedly at him. “Yes. And Jim...he’s been a bit...slow to figure out his own feelings.”

“You believe he cared for you as well,” he says slowly.

As he ponders the Captain and his behavior, he has no doubt that Jim is of the same mind as the Doctor. He is also perplexed that he had not come to the same conclusion that Leonard had.

Leonard’s face falls. “Right,” he mutters. “ _Cared_. But he had planned on leaving the Enterprise, just like you.”

A heavy silence forms between them, his throat thick with unprecedented emotion. Jim had planned on leaving?

Spock cannot find the proper words to share his dismay. “I do not understand. He would never leave his ship.”

Yet, is that not the very thing he had planned? Leaving?

The irony stings.

“That’s what I thought, too, but he planned to leave. He’d applied for and was given the Vice Admiral position here, at Yorktown,” Leonard explains, looking him straight in the eye. “Apparently, he’d been thinking about it for awhile, Spock. Granted, he didn’t accept it in the end, but he’d planned it just the same. Without telling any of us.”

His heart constricts at the thought. “You discovered his intentions before he regressed in age,” Spock postulates. “This is what you argued about.”

“Yes,” Leonard says quietly. “It slipped out when he was poisoned. And before we could resolve it between us, or I could apologize for being an idiot, he changed into a kid. Funny, isn’t it?”

“I fail to see the humor,” he says, easing himself into a seat beside Jimmy.

Leonard’s brows wag. “It’s a figure of speech, Spock.”

“Len,” Christine says, coming over to his side. “Lieutenant Harris just informed me that the Commodore is coming now.”

“Now?” Leonard asks.

“She has a meeting that was moved up.”

He sighs. “It’s not exactly convenient since Jimmy hasn’t even woken up yet, but there’s nothing I can do. When she comes, I’ll have you keep watch, Chris.”

“My pleasure,” she says, smiling. “I would love to spend time with Jimmy and his bunny.”

Leonard lifts a brow and glances back at Jimmy, who is squinting at Christine.

“You’re awake.” Leonard breaks into a smile. “Do you remember me? Where you are?”

He blinks at Leonard, slowly nodding. “You’re my doctor...on a starbase,” he whispers.

“That’s right, Jimmy. How are you feeling?”

Jimmy blinks slowly, squeezing his bunny tightly against him. “Tired,” he says groggily.

“That feeling will wear off soon and you’ll be running around in no time,” Leonard says lightly. “Do you feel pain in your leg?”

He wriggles his body and shakes his head.

“Good,” Leonard says warmly. “Your hand?”

He pauses, a thoughtful expression on his face, then shakes his head for a second time.

Leonard smiles wider. “That’s good, too. After you’ve been up for a bit, we’ll get you something to eat.”

Jimmy squirms. “Not hungry.”

Leonard nods, expression kind. “Just in case you change your mind about the food, we’ll be ready. The applesauce is pretty good around here.”

“‘Kay.” Jimmy looks over at Spock, eyes brightening as if he is noticing him for the first time. “Mister Spock? Did you see my bunny?”

“I have seen your bunny,” he says softly. “What is its name?”

“It’s a secret,” he whispers. “Jus’ for me.”

“I see,” he says solemnly. “I believe those names are the best type of names. I had a pet as a child.”

“You did?” Jimmy asks, yawning.

“A sehlat.”

Jimmy scrunches up his face.

“A bear-like creature…” He explains, hesitating. “With fangs.”

Jimmy’s face freezes for a second before he erupts into giggles.

Spock does not fight the smile growing on his face.

Leonard gives a low whistle. “That’s some bedtime story, Spock.”

“It is not a bedtime story,” Spock asserts, straightening in his chair. “It is the truth.”

“Right.” Leonard rolls his eyes, eliciting another giggle from the child. “You had a pet with fangs. Your _parents_ let you have a pet with fangs that also looked _like a bear_. Who does that?”

“Mister Spock,” Jimmy whispers, grinning into the top of his bunny.

Leonard makes a noncommittal sound in his throat. “So he does.” He reaches over to ruffle the boy’s hair. “Tell you what, Jimmy. I’ll be back soon to check on ya, but how about you let Mister Spock entertain you with stories about his so-called...fanged pet.”

Jimmy nods, holding on to his own animal even tighter than before.

“Commodore Paris is here, Spock,” Leonard murmurs, indicating the glass window behind them with a nod of his head. “I’ll be just a moment. Christine will be tending to Jim in my absence.”

Spock glances back at Jimmy, who is quietly watching them both. “Please, do not rush on our account, Doctor McCoy. We will be fine.”

 

oOo

 

Leonard stands beside the Commodore as she stares through the window at Jimmy. Lieutenant Harris is on the other side of her, speaking into his communicator.

“He is so young,” she whispers, her hand covering her mouth. “Is it reversible?”

“I don’t know yet,” he admits. “So far, we have seen nothing that gives us even a clue as to how this happened.”

She drops her hand and gives him a sharp look. “If this is a long-term situation, the appropriate protocols will have to followed, and his family contacted. Are you prepared for that, Doctor McCoy?”

He isn’t, and he’s certain the Commodore wouldn’t be bringing the subject up so soon if she knew what Jim’s family—what his home life—was really like.

He lies through his teeth. “I am prepared to do what is best for Jim,” he says with more lightness than he actually feels.

“Spoken like a true friend,” she murmurs, attention returning to the little boy who is grinning sleepily at Spock.

He senses Harris’s eyes upon him, and crosses his arms. “Jim would do no less for me,” he says quietly.

She smiles as Jimmy breaks out into more giggles. “What is he saying to him?”

“Turns out Spock had a sehlat as a kid,” he says, still incredulous that Spock had had a domesticated pet that looked like a bear.

Her laugh rings out. “A sehlat,” she says. “No wonder Jimmy is entertained.”

“I’ll need to keep him here for awhile,” he says, growing quiet.

“How long?”

“Indefinitely,” he says, offering nothing else.

“I understand,” she says, turning to look at him. “Please, whatever you need, don’t hesitate to ask.”

“Thank you,” he murmurs.

“However, I must ask that you be as forthright as possible with security,” she says softly.

He shakes his head. “I will—to an extent. Doctor-patient confidentiality.”

“They are strongly considering the idea that this was not an accident, Doctor McCoy,” she explains, a kind look on her face. “I understand that you wish to keep Kirk’s privacy intact, but any information that you are privy to—that no one else is and that is not prohibited by confidentiality requirements—would be helpful to their investigation. I realize it could be unpleasant, for both you and Captain Kirk, but it’s imperative that we work together in order to resolve this as smoothly and quickly as possible. Once we know more, we will alert HQ of the situation.”

She’s right, but he hates it.

He sighs, running his hands over his face. If Jim were in his shoes, he’d do what he had to in order to get him back. Wouldn’t he?

“Is it that difficult?” she asks quietly.

He crosses his arms again, staring at the small boy in his care who had burrowed under his covers as if he were hiding or perhaps cold. He holds his breath, waiting as Christine takes notice and brings Jimmy another blanket, draping it over him.

The boy looks up at her adoringly and with what appears to be stars in his eyes.

It’s a painful reminder that other than Hoshi Sato, Jimmy had had no true mother figure in his life. That Jimmy may ask for his mother, he may cry for her, but she was never a mother to him.

Even when he was four-years-old.

He blinks his eyes, unable to speak for the emotion constricting his throat.

“Doctor McCoy?” Commodore Paris asks, eyes drawn with concern, Harris also looking worriedly at him.

“Give us a couple more days, some more time to complete additional testing,” he rasps. “Then I’ll...talk.”

He doesn’t mention that most of what he knows is classified and would require contacting Admiral Archer, for one. They’ll have to cross that bridge tomorrow. If he mentions it now, they wouldn’t give him another day.

Harris exchanges a look with the Commodore. He takes a breath. “I’ll give you today, Doctor McCoy, but then I would appreciate your full cooperation. Every minute counts.”

“After Spock informs our crew of the situation and Jimmy sees them,” Leonard says decisively, unwilling to budge. “Twenty-four hours.”

Harris frowns. “Doctor McCo—”

“After he sees them,” he interrupts in a sharp tone, tamping down his frustration.

He takes a few deep, calming breaths in the ensuing silence.

“After he sees them,” he repeats, softening his voice. “Maybe they’ll trigger something...or….”

He doesn’t finish, instinct telling him it’s a false hope.

“Agreed,” Harris says. “Thank you, Doctor.”

“Anything for Jim." He rolls his shoulders. “Now, if you will excuse me,” he says, already turning away. “I’ll return to my patient.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading! Please, review? :)
> 
> I'm about to get a heck of a lot busier than I already am (if that's possible...haha...aren't we all a little busier than we want to be...) starting next week. I may need two or three weeks to get back into the swing of things and adjust. I hate to say that it might take me that long to post another chapter, but it could be that long. :( I hope not, so we'll see. The next chapter will be fluffier, at least, so that IS easier to write. Again, thank you for reading! Until next time...


	5. Behind Me Now (Hello Again)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello! So sorry, everyone. My muse has been confused and somewhat elusive. I do apologize for the wait - I hate that this update took so long. :(
> 
> I loaded up on caffeine and stayed up into the wee hours of the night to write most of this - finished part of the next chapter, too, so it was worth the extra effort. :) 
> 
> Thank you, junker5 and diamondblue4, for your edits and generous thoughts regarding this chapter!
> 
> I'm embracing my OC with this one, giving you another POV. Hope you enjoy the chapter!

oOo

 

 

Chapter 5

 

Behind Me Now (Hello Again)

 

 

oOo

 

“I understand why you agreed with him, why you gave him time, but I still don’t like it,” Lieutenant Lukin Harris says after McCoy leaves them in a huff to check on his young patient.

Commodore Paris shifts her gaze from the precious child on the biobed they are both watching through the glass to him.

Any other day, the thought that Captain Kirk is precious would be rather comical. But he’s always had a soft spot for children. Especially vulnerable ones who look like they’d never been loved enough. Jimmy had that look about him. It had been one of the first things that had struck him in the captain’s quarters. Wouldn’t the son of a hero have had a rock solid home life?

He feared that had not been the case, which made the rumors he’d heard of “Cadet Kirk” years ago understandable.

“We owe Kirk,” she says, her faint voice revealing a fatigue he rarely hears from her.

Her work, like his, is never done. Not on the Yorktown.

_We owe Kirk._

He’s thrown those three words around himself. For weight. To get the job done. But now that he’d heard them from her, they settle on him uneasily. They sound flippant, though he knows Paris well enough to know that isn’t the case.

“We owe Kirk to do _our job_ ,” he counters.

“And we will,” she affirms. “But we must give them time. I’d rather that they willingly work with us to determine the cause behind this.”

“McCoy. He’s hiding something,” he murmurs, recalling the doctor’s emotion, his voice breaking apart as he pleaded for more time.

Paris has a soft heart for Kirk’s privacy and safety, but he has everyone’s safety on his mind. If this had happened to the captain who was already made of legends...how easily could it happen to the others here?

He had to know more. Immediately.

She hums, looking past him. “Aren’t we all, Lieutenant Harris?”

He glances back and sees two diplomats who’d been visiting the starbase.

“I must go.” She pauses. “Keep me posted, the next time you speak with them.”

He nods his goodbye to Commodore Paris but keeps his own feet firmly planted on the floor as she walks away. She doesn’t look back. A fact for which he’s grateful. He has much work to do, and she knows it, but he stays here.

He isn’t sure why he stays to watch beyond the glass himself, except for his own curiosity and, of course, that Jimmy _does_ remind him of his own son.

Part of him isn’t certain that Doctor McCoy truly understands the concern he’d expressed before he’d seen Kirk with his own eyes. That the possibility of an emotional fallout hitting this younger version of Captain Kirk at a moment’s notice is great. The unease he has with Doctor McCoy almost a certainty.

He doesn't have the science to prove it but Kirk’s previous emotional turmoil couldn’t have simply vanished, even if he had regressed over twenty years in age.

He knows numerous things about the bridge crew members of the Enterprise, even more about the remaining members. Their courage. Their intelligence. Their allegiance to their captain.

And somewhat lesser things…

Their birthplaces. Their parents’ names. What they like to do with their free time now that they are without their ship, which was, to his relief, do all they can to aid the reconstruction of the base.

All things that were public information. Nothing intrusive, though some would argue otherwise. If they did argue, he’d counter with the security measures of Yorktown that are of such magnitude that even he can’t sleep at night on most occasions.

What he doesn’t understand about this crew is why their allegiance to Kirk, a young, fairly inexperienced captain despite his valor and reputation, is so pure. Why it is, essentially, incomparable to that of other crews.

Because of the nature of his job, he is aware of the communications that go through subspace, often stopping at Yorktown enroute to Earth. He has a handle on _other_ communications that do _not_ stop at Yorktown. The Federation deals with threats far more than the average civilian, the average cadet, even the average captain, are aware of. His job encompasses more than just “security” on this starbase, a little known fact. And little known for a damn good reason.

He is not merely a lieutenant. Hasn’t been for nearly five years. He is a commodore, like Paris, but had been “demoted” by Admiral Archer himself after the destruction of Vulcan. It had showed up overnight on his record as “conduct unbecoming to a Starfleet officer” several times over, a flaw he still can’t think about without cringing.

His parents had disowned him for it. His own wife had nearly divorced him.

Only he and the Admiralty know of his true purpose here. He doubts anyone remembers his promotion to Commodore Harris, which had lasted all of twenty-four hours in lieu of a greater purpose.

His job, even while his life is deep in space, spreads into the very heart of Starfleet.

Krall had been a bigger threat than they’d ever expected, leaving Harris with almost nothing to protect his family’s home after their ships had been diverted to the Nebula. Had it not been for Kirk, for his stalwart crew, he would not be standing here today, watching a small Kirk lick a Popsicle with all the gusto a sick, four year old child could muster.

Krall had proven what Harris has known all along. Something is weakening their structure from within to allow such an atrocity to occur. An invisible power.

He laid in bed, awake most nights thinking of this invisible power more than he cared to admit. Nothing that he could imagine came close to explaining this gut feeling he had that he was missing something bigger altogether.

Several years ago, he’d almost gathered the wherewithal to speak with Archer and request a transfer to Captain Kirk’s ship. To see who James T. Kirk really was. At the back of his mind, however, he’d wanted to give himself a break from this precarious glass globe, this structure that was consuming his life. He’d been suspicious of the young captain back then, especially after one massive ship had taken out what used to be Alcatraz - and so much of Starfleet headquarters.

However, he’d shoved aside any thoughts regarding a transfer only because his wife had informed him about the third child on the way.

He decides to make passionate love to his young wife later, because she had saved lives, though it is Kirk and his crew that are heralded. She’d kept him here, grounding him, which in turn had given him the opportunity to secure their “home” as much as he had. Without his expertise, his insistence for improved shields, improved barriers, improved ventilation systems, Krall would have overtaken the base before the Enterprise had destroyed his drones.

Yes, he’d had a part in keeping Yorktown in one piece but he’d never boast of it. He would much rather remain in the shadows, though someday, his position would require him to step into the light.

He has a sneaking suspicion that time was quickly approaching.

Caught up in his thoughts, he becomes aware that Spock is standing beside him, waiting for him to reply to a question a moment too late.

“Commander, I didn’t see you,” he says, smiling in apology. “Has McCoy perhaps changed his mind?”

He asks respectfully, but his words are a little too sharp.

Spock’s eyes drift towards Jimmy, much like Paris’s had. Studiously, with a glimmer of affection. On the Vulcan, however, it is unprecedented emotion.

“He will explain in due time,” Spock says quietly.

“We all have our secrets,” he says, borrowing Paris’s words.

“And yours, Commodore?”

Harris breathes in harshly through his nostrils, but for show. “Do not speak of that again,” he says.

The _how_ crosses his mind but he is too proud to ask Spock how he knows.

“I will not, if you do not press us at this time. What little privacy Jim has left since becoming the youngest captain in Starfleet must remain intact for the time being.”

“If only I had friends so faithful,” Harris murmurs. “I understand.”

“Then we both agree,” Spock said in a confident manner, eyes lofty and dismissive. “Excuse me. I must inform the captain’s senior bridge crew and invite them to visit with Jim.”

Harris sighs once the Vulcan disappears around the corner, and heads the opposite way. He knows the commander is not happy with him; he wouldn’t be happy with him, either, had their places been switched. He feels, and not for the first time, like the Devil’s advocate, a necessary evil in order to keep the peace. It is too ironic.

His conscience unsettled, he makes a decision to settle it, once and for all, while he waits for Jim’s closest friends to make the right decision. No one could tell him the doctor was making a medical decision. No, this had more to do with McCoy’s apparent affection that he clearly held for James T. Kirk. Nothing more, nothing less.

His quarters are a fair walk from this particular sickbay, but he doesn't mind the ten minutes to clear his head. He weaves in and out of people and aliens, past his children's school, to his apartment. He’s alone once he arrives, his wife taking their youngest to an appointment, as he recalls his family’s schedule for the day. He hasn’t been keeping up with them very well, and Krall certainly had put a damper on things, as well.

This isn’t a call he can make in his office, around the others. It’s partly personal, which makes it private.

It’s his lucky day. Somehow, Admiral Archer is bright-eyed and bushy-tailed at this hour.

“Lukin, it’s always nice to hear from you,” Archer says, with a rosy-cheeked smile.

“Were you just outside?” he asks. “You look cold. Where are you?”

Archer chuckles, the laugh he remembers from when he was a kid and visiting his grandparents, who’d lived next to Archer and his family. “Up in the mountains.”

Harris winces. “Your vacation. I’d forgotten.”

Once retired, now back in the thick of it all, Archer deserved time away. His family deserved time with him, too.

“It’s not an inconvenience, your calls never are,” the old man says.

But Harris can see he’s not up for talking much now, the cold probably settling in his bones.

“We have a situation here,” he says quietly before Archer can ask why he’s called, or pose any questions about his rocky married life.

Archer sobers. “After Krall, I’m not surprised. What is it?”

“Nothing related to Krall,” Harris says, but he hesitates.

“I somehow doubt that,” Archer says. “Kirk?”

Speaking to Archer is speaking to the one person who knows him better than even his wife, and he can always read Harris.

“You’re right,” he affirms. “It does have to do with...Kirk.”

“Are you skirting proper protocol?” Archer asks, brow furrowed in a serious manner.

“You know I am,” he confesses. “You know I have to, or I wouldn’t be contacting you like this in the first place.”

He almost adds that no one is cooperating with him, but wary that it would sound like a weak complaint one would hear on an elementary playground, he refrains.

Archer searches his face, eyes filling with a surprising amount of concern. He forgets that Archer is actually closer to Kirk than to him. “Go on.”

“He’s regressed in age, sir,” Harris says. “Considerably.”

Archer pales. “Excuse me?”

“He’s four years old,” Harris continues, “And we have no leads as to how it happened though it appears to have been premeditated, a poison that nearly killed him had it not been for the quick thinking of Doctor McCoy and Commander Spock.”

Archer is blinking at him, a vague look on his face.

“Admiral?” Harris asks sharply, leaning in, concerned that he’s lost him.

“Does he remember who he is?” Archer asks, his voice strange and guarded.

“No,” he answers. “He knows nothing. He’s been asking for his mother—”

Archer shivers, an odd reaction that sends a warning shiver down his own spine.

“—and is a very sick child. Apparently, this did nothing to help matters in regards to his health.”

“Four years old?” Archer repeats.

“Just. He just had his birthday.”

“Jesus, it can’t….”

“Sir?”

Archer lifts his chin. “Who knows?”

“Paris, Spock, McCoy...though they wish to inform the bridge crew, see if that would help…”

“Keep it that way,” Archer says coldly. “And do not tell Paris you contacted me. Not yet.”

Harris startles. “You act like you know something.”

“I know nothing,” Archer says, narrowing his eyes on Harris. “And that’s the damn...the damn problem,” he spits out. “Do you have any idea what this could be? Do you?’

“Sir,” he says, flustered. “No, that’s why I’m asking—”

“Who in their right mind would mess with a captain of Jim’s caliber and make him become a child?” Archer rails again. “Who?”

“Uh, sir…I don’t…”

“Who?” Archer stands and slams his fist on the table. The eyes that are usually gentle crease with anger, brows meeting together in rage.

“That's why we’re investigating,” he says, finally finding his words. In all these years, he’s rarely seen Archer this upset. “Though McCoy is not willing to—”

“To talk to you? Spill all Kirk’s secrets?” Archer says flatly. “I’m not surprised.”

“Is there any way you—”

“I’m not going to ask for his secrets because I already know them.”

Harris stares at Archer. It is impossible to read him, a fact that he hates. He always reads Archer. It’s Kirk. It has to be.

“But you’re not going to tell me are you?” he asks quietly.

“Oh, I’m going to tell you alright,” Archer says, nodding. “Because then you are going to tell _them_.”

He suddenly dreads the truth. It feels like he’s walking into a noose of his own making. And Archer is leading the way in riddles.

“Tell me...something,” he says.

Archer inclines his head. “And I will. There’ll be no beating around the bush, Harris. This is the day that I always knew would come for you, maybe even for us all, just never expected it to be because of Kirk.” He gives a sharp, dry laugh that tries to cut the tension that is thickening the air. “Though I should’ve expected it. Fuck it all.”

Harris shifts in his chair. Not that he minds the foul language, but he can count on his one hand the number of times the admiral had sworn.

Archer sighs, visibly deflating as he slumps back into his chair. “The day the Vengeance crashed into San Francisco, James Kirk crawled into the warp core to fix his dying ship—and never came out of it alive.”

He fears his hearing has gone bad. Jim Kirk— well, _Jimmy_ —was alive in Yorktown. “Come again?”

Archer folds his hands on the table. “Captain Kirk died.”

“But...he lives.”

“Obviously.”

The curt answer does nothing to help. The room shrinks around him, just like his throat. “H-how…” He’d swallow, but his throat is too thick. “How?”

Archer begins to explain, and he feels like they are slowly climbing a ladder down into pit of vipers, never to get out.

The world spins around him like a kaleidoscope he’d had as a kid, broken and with far too many colors.

After Pike and Klingons and Marcus and torpedoes, Archer finally gets to _augments_. And then tribbles. And to serum. Something seems to click, and Harris’s mind stutters to a halt.

It’s what McCoy, what Spock, must have locked in their own minds. It has to be. There is no other explanation for their reluctance to delve into Kirk’s history.

Silence stretches out between them for awhile. Harris is trying to decide what to do next, but Archer’s eyes are wide, as if hanging on to _his_ every word. Anticipating his response, instead of giving him the information.

“And this…” He can’t speak quickly, too many thoughts are scrambling for his attention again.

Not the least is how Kirk ever recovered to become Captain again.

Archer gets up, surprisingly spry for his age and for the somber tone of the conversation between them. “Let me show you something. I wasn’t sure exactly why or when before, but I think…”

He doesn’t finish telling Harris. He sends it from his PADD, instead, an alert for the message appearing like a banner on the screen of his own device.

He feels the noose slip over his head as he opens it. Feels the heaviness as if he already knows. Feels the sheer weight of being the messenger boy to McCoy, who'd broken his oath in order to revive his best friend from death. To Spock, who'd brought Harrison down with his bare hands.

He reads it at least a dozen times before helplessly looking up at Archer. The man’s eyes are wet, but forgiving. And he explains more. The implications are astounding as he connects the two.

Still, the truth is there in a single paragraph, and the noose tightens.

He is not reassured. He is torn between duty and his own selfish desire to flee from this, after all.

How was he ever going to give them _this_?

 

oOo

 

“Doctor ‘Coy?”

Leonard lifts his head from his work, Jimmy’s latest reports, ready to tell him to call him “Bones” because it’s easier, but catches himself just in time. He doesn’t want to influence him in that way, wants Jimmy to come to conclusions for himself. Especially that one. His heart longs to hear it again. It aches in the silence that is between him and the boy.

He feels it would be better for him in the long run. To encourage the natural inquisitiveness that Jimmy seems to already possess. If anything, maybe, and if he were lucky, Jimmy would come up with a new nickname for him.

“Yes, Jimmy?” he asks in a soft voice.

When Jimmy hesitates with his reply, his eyes downcast at his tray of food, he wonders what he’s done wrong now. Spock’s departure from his bedside had already caused a spike of tension in the air, similar to the strain between them in Jim’s quarters. The boy is perceptive, probably knows that Spock had left to take care of an important task since he was a Commander. Just not the specifics, which was to inform the senior bridge crew of their now tiny-sized superior officer. But he knows, no doubt, that he’s left alone with him. Him, a crotchety old man. And that maybe it was even his fault that Spock had left.

He’s already a self-proclaimed grump. Now more so than ever, thanks to the reprimand Christine had given him earlier. He’d wanted to force Jimmy to eat the peanut butter, even when the look on his face told him he wasn’t ready.

He wants child-Jim to be healthy, that is most important to him, but apparently that isn’t going to happen as fast as he would like it to.

Jimmy shows him that he is his captain in more ways than one. If the look on his face earlier is any indication, he’s a small soldier, determined not to share what truly was on his mind. Yet, somehow, Christine had deciphered it before he had. Which is why Jimmy is eating only a Popsicle. Not the applesauce. Not the peanut butter. At least the Popsicle had vitamins.

“Did you give me lots of medicine?”

Leonard nods. “I have.”

They had finished another round of innoculations already, also keeping Jimmy hydrated with a saline drip.

The boy scrunches up his face. “Am I less sick?”

“You’re going to be in a day or two,” he assures him.

The fever is still there, evident by the slightly sweaty forehead, the flushed cheeks. He also squirms under the covers, as if trying to scratch at his rashes.

“Oh,” he says, his face falling.

Leonard glances up for Christine before he can help himself. She’s nowhere to be found, probably gathering a few things for Jimmy to play with to pass the time once he’s up to it. He tamps down the small flash of panic that comes out of nowhere, which is ridiculous in the first place. This is Jim. _Jim_. They had a bond before, they’d have one now. He just had to be...creative. The bunny had helped, but it hadn’t worked like magic.

Determined to do this right, he sets down his work and comes closer to Jimmy.

“What is it that you want to do once you’re feeling better?” he asks.

“I don’t know where we are,” Jim says, tone serious.

“I can arrange a tour once we’ve given you all your medicine,” he promises easily. “It could be a few days, but you’ll see Yorktown.”

Jimmy looks up at him like he’d looked up at Spock. Like he hung the moon. “Really?”

“Yes,” he smiles. “It is pretty amazing.”

“Spock said we have art’ficial sunlight,” Jimmy states. “That’s cool!”

He misses the sun, especially the Georgian sun, but he’ll never tell Jim that. “Did he tell you about the moon?”

“Uh-huh. That it’s simated...it’s sim...sim…” Jimmy looks at him questioningly.

“Simulated?” he says gently, fighting a smile at Jimmy’s tendency to speak too fast for his own good and get tongue-tied in the process. As was the case with his adult self, Jimmy’s brain thought faster than his mouth as a child, too.

“Uh-huh. S’lated moonlight?”

“And rain?”

Jimmy blinks. “Spock didn’t tell me that. It rains here?”

“When the schools want to simulate a rainbow, yes.”

He didn't know what had possessed him to learn a few things about this fragile piece of space, but it looked like this knowledge had come in handy.

“What else do you want to do?” he asks, nonchalantly slipping onto the bed beside him.

Jimmy cuddles next to him, and his heart nearly stops. “Swing. I miss swinging,” he says, voice growing considerably less excited than before. “My...my tire swing that Sam made.”

Leonard holds him close, smoothing his hair out of habit. “Maybe Spock can scout out a playground for us, or a few other friends.”

“Okay,” he says, voice small.

Sensing there was something even more important than that, he presses more. “What else?”

“My...friends,” Jimmy whispers. He squeezes his bunny with all his strength and sniffs loudly. “I have friends, too. Do you think they miss me?”

Leonard looks down just as a little tear forms forms at the corner of the boy’s eyes. If Child Jim hadn’t already wormed his way into his heart, he had now. He can’t imagine all that is going through this bright mind of his, but it’s about missing friends, the strange things around him, he was a brave, brave boy.

“I'm sure they do. What are their names?” he asks softly.

“Samuel an’...an’ Joe.”

“Sam’s your big brother’s name, right?”

“Yeah.”

“Is this other Sam your friend at school?”

He shakes his head. “No.”

“Oh, I see. They’re your neighbors?”

“Uh-uh.”

Leonard tries not to show his confusion. “Where do you see them?”

“Can’t see them. They’re...in’v’sble,” he whispers.

Leonard sucks in a breath, his hand still on they boy’s head. It’s warm and soft, bringing to mind Jimmy’s innocence all over again.

“They’re my best friends,” Jimmy says indignantly, voice muffled. “Even if you can’t see them.”

“I’m sure they are,” he says quietly, profoundly touched that Jim had entrusted him with this information. It seemed like a lot, given that Jim had always been a private person.

“They come out when I’m scared.”

He’s afraid to ask, but he does. “When is that?”

Jimmy looks away. “Just...sometime,” he mumbles.

His heart skips a beat. There is nothing to say, because he knows just when these friends appear.

The ugly truth is too much for his heart. He swallows harshly, not resisting the pull he had to the child, hugging him even closer.

“What else is on your mind, kid?” he asks hoarsely.

Jimmy takes a breath. “Since you gave me medicine, I also want talk to Mommy,” he announces.

Leonard glances down, quirking a brow in amusement—that he quickly covers when Jimmy looks up at him with a frown.

He coughs into his hand. Jimmy was sly, just like his older self. “I did say that after you had medicine, you could talk to her. As a matter of fact, I believe that we’ll be sending a message to her tomorrow.”

He has to delay it at least another day. He sees no way around it, but he also understands that lying to Jimmy was not going to help his relationship with him. The kids is four, but he’s sharp.

He prays that Winona ignores the message once he does send it to her. A message that will assure her they are managing the situation with the utmost care. Hopefully, that would be enough for her to simply stay away from Jimmy, like she’s done all their lives. Or, if she can’t resist the thought of her small son, that she will listen to his instructions. Not giving Jimmy hope of her involvement, only of Leonard’s care for him here.

“Mommy doesn’t give me Popsicles,” Jimmy says quietly.

Leonard eyes the one that is partially eaten, now discarded on the tray he'd set aside. Jimmy makes no move to pick it up. Christine enters, her arms full of games, also eying the tray. He sends her a look and shakes his head.

“Well, these Popsicles happen to be good for you,” Leonard says, wagging his brows.

Jimmy sends a tiny, confused look his way.

“They are,” he affirms. “And if you finish each Popsicle over the next week or so, you'd be surprised at how quickly you'd get well.”

Jimmy blinks. “Then I can...I can play outside?”

“You bet. Once you're stronger, the rashes have gone away, and we’ve given you all of your medicine.”

“That'll take forever,” he whispers.

“Then we will still have fun along the way.”

Jimmy looks around the room, expression doubtful. “There’s nothin’ to do here.”

“Don’t believe me?” he asks, slipping out from beside him. “I can show you.”

“You’re...leavin?”

The question squeezes the life out of him. He smiles reassuringly. “No, I’m going to talk to Nurse Chapel, but I’ll be right back.”

Jimmy nods, not saying anything.

It’s unsettling to walk away from him for all of one minute, as Jimmy seems to be more attached, but those games are just the thing.

Christine hands him a new one he doesn’t know, and checkers.

“Checkers?” he asks, opening the lid.

The red and black discs gleam like new.

She shrugs. “He plays chess, doesn’t he?”

“With Spock, not me.”

“Exactly. This is different.”

He wags a brow. “Worth a shot. Checkers is more my style, anyway.”

He returns to Jimmy’s side and smiles. “Guess what we found?”

Jimmy is already eyeing the box, his one eye wider than the others, as if he’s suppressing his excitement.

Leonard chuckles. “This will be fun.”

Christine removes the food from the tray, which is the perfect surface to set up the game.

Leonard glances sideways at Jimmy. “Red or black?”

“Red,” Jimmy states, already whisking away the proper pieces as if he’s done this many times before.

“You go first,” Leonard says. “Who do you play checkers with?’

Jimmy pushes his red piece onto a square. “Sam, sometimes. The ‘puter.”

Leonard moves his black piece, but watches him from the corner of his eye. Jimmy licks his lips, swallowing several times over. “Would you like something to drink?”

The boy’s shoulders hunch, then shudder.

“It’s your turn,” Leonard urges, watching him even more carefully now.

Jimmy blinks and makes his move. He folds his hands on his lap tightly when he’s done.

“It’s okay if you're thirsty,” he says cautiously. “Would you like something to drink?” he asks again.

Jimmy holds his breath. “Okay,” he says in a high-pitched voice.

But something isn't right.

“If you’re not up to it, you don’t have to have one,” he says gently, sensing his unease.

“I want one,” the boy says unconvincingly.

“Jimmy—”

“It’ll make me bigger and stronger, right, Doctor ‘Coy?” The boys’ eyes are wide and hopeful. “Like you?”

Leonard nudges his next piece across the board. He never knows what to expect to come out of Jimmy’s mouth. This surprises him more than he can comprehend.

“Yes. Like me,” he says slowly.

“Then I...I don’t have to be afwaid.”

“You’re here with me,” he says, looking Child Jim straight in the eye. “With Nurse Chapel and my other friends. No matter how small you are, Jimmy, you don’t have to be afraid...or feel alone. Ever.”

Jimmy chews on his bottom lip. He makes his move in silence.

They play this way until the end. But it’s not an uncomfortable quiet. It's as if they're learning how to read each other again. Jimmy rubs his eyes at one point, and Leonard isn’t surprised. This is a lot of excitement for one day, and the day isn’t over.

Their game comes to a fairly quick end. Leonard loves the triumph on Jimmy’s face when he wins.

He beams and declares, “I’m thirsty now, Doctor ‘Coy. I think I can finish my applesauce, too.”

Leonard smiles back. “Worked up an appetite, did ya?”

Jimmy yawns. “Uh-huh.”

“We’ll get you something before you fall asleep,” he says softly.

Jimmy’s eyes open wide. “But I’m not t’red.”

He smiles to himself. “Just in case.”

“I’ll eat it!” he announces again, fighting a yawn.

Christine tucks the pillows behind him, making him more comfortable to finish his small meal. True to his word, Jimmy finishes it all—save for the last bite.

“Can’t finish it?”

Jimmy looks up at him with wide eyes, shaking his head over and over.

“It’s okay, Jimmy,” he says, placing his hand on his shoulder. Jimmy flinches away.

Leonard keeps his hand on his shoulder, gently squeezing it. “I’m not upset that you didn’t finish. You didn't do anything wrong.”

“I didn't?” Jimmy asks in barely a whisper.

“No,” he says sincerely. “And if you can’t finish eating something, I will never get upset with you.”

Jimmy blinks several times at him. “Y-you won’t take th-things away?” he asks, voice wavering.

Good Lord. What does he even mean by that? Take what things away? And why? Because of food?

Deeply disturbed—because this indicates that Jim had had food issues _before_ Tarsus—he can’t fight the worry rising in his chest, the scowl growing on his face. “No, Buddy. I won’t.”

Jimmy’s eyes water. “But they do,” he whispers, and hunkers down into his bed, covering his face with his bunny.

Leonard fights a sigh. They’d taken one step forward only to take three steps back. Before he can settle things between them, his communicator beeps. Seeing that it is Spock, he answers quickly. “Have you told them?”

“I have,” Spock says.

“And?”

“Is Jimmy able to speak with... the captain’s bridge crew...now?” Spock asks.

“Now?”

“Your friends, Doctor ‘Coy?” Jimmy asks, peering from behind his bunny.

“That’s right,” he says. “They want to meet you.”

“But…”

Leonard crouches so he is at Jimmy’s eye level. “But what?” he asks softly.

“Why?”

“They’re my friends. They want to be your friends.”

“And my bunny’s friend?’

“His, too,” he says. “I’m sure they’d love to meet him.”

“‘kay.”

“I think he’s ready, Spock.”

“Uh-uh. Ready.”

Spock’s voice is tender. “We are already here, Jimmy. Look up.”

Leonard looks up at the same time that Jimmy does. His breath catches. How long had they been standing there?

Jimmy’s gaze falls on each one, beginning with Jaylah, not a bridge crew member but one of them just the same. She has both hands pressed against the glass as if she’s trying to get as close as possible to Jimmy as she can.

She is crying.

Jimmy clenches his bunny to his chest and looks at Spock, who was next to her. Then Nyota, whose eyes are mysteriously wet, as well. Beside her is Mister Scott with a hand over his mouth. Sulu, who is trying his hardest not to show emotion, his hands clenched at his sides. And, finally, Chekov. There is no mistaking the sadness and amazement in his eyes.

All of them are clearly feeling a myriad of emotions, similar to the ones that hit Leonard each time he takes another look at Jimmy.

“Want to see them closer?” Leonard asks.

“Can they come in an’ play?”

He smiles, happy to see Jimmy warming up to them already. “Probably wouldn't be the best thing, at least not today,” he says apologetically. “Do you remember why you’re in here?”

“To keep germs ‘way.”

“That’s right,” he says. “But I can take you up to the window.”

Jimmy nods.

“Good,” he breathes.

He carefully detaches all catheters from his body so he can take him into his arms. Since Jimmy is wearing only a gown, he wraps a smaller blanket around him and, of course, Bunny, too.

Jimmy’s hands are curled between his body and Leonard’s, but he feels the small fingers clench at his shirt, shaking feebly.

He kisses the top of his head, which is nestled against his chest, just under his chin. “Don’t be afraid,” he whispers. “They came to see you.”

He walks to the window, holding Jimmy as securely as possible.

“Why?” Child Jim asks, just like he had before.

He can’t look at Jaylah or Uhura, the emotion in their eyes, a reflection of what was in his heart, but it doesn’t matter. He can’t hold back, either, and chokes on a reply. As he fights to regain his composure, the answer comes to him, an answer he’s formed after years of knowing James T. Kirk better than anyone else. Sometimes even better than himself. The latter, just not recently, of course.

“Because you’re important,” he says, willing his voice not to break, not to reveal any weakness as he recalls all of his past mistakes.

For some odd reason, he wants to hold on to Jimmy, to this moment forever.

Jimmy looks up at him, eyes wide and trusting. “I am?"

He cups Jimmy’s cheek with his hand, feeling a surge of protectiveness for the boy and a desire to nurture. He's not a father, but in this moment, he _is_ a father. He's what Jimmy needs. And that, in turn, is what Jim needs.

“You're _very_ important, Jimmy,” he says softly, smiling down at him. “To us all. That's why."

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading! Please, review? The next chapter shouldn't take me so long, as I'm in the process of writing it now. :) Meanwhile I really do appreciate your patience! Until next time!


	6. Rescuing You (Only for a Time)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> FYI, this chapter picks up right from the last, but in Jimmy's POV. 
> 
> Warning: Implied/Referenced Child Abuse (Sexual) in the beginning of the first scene.

oOo

  

Chapter Six

  
Rescuing You (Only for a Time)

 

oOo

 

Jimmy can’t remember so many people staring at him at once. They seem nice, like Hoshi, or the old lady at the market when Frank drives them into town, but a few are looking at him funny. Is that what people do when someone ‘is important?’

He’s not sure he wants to be important, especially if it means that he’ll make people cry. Like the girl with marks on her face, marks that look like lines on one of Daddy’s old cars that Frank kept for himself.

He already makes Mommy cry. And Frank...he doesn't cry. But sometimes he makes Frank mad.

He’s not sure ‘important’ is what adults would say is ‘a good idea.’

“Jimmy?” Doctor Coy asks quietly.

He nods without looking up at him.

“I’m going to turn on the intercom, so they can talk to you, and you to them.”

He nods again, rubbing his head across Bones’s fur. It feels nice, like the blanket he left at home. He wants his blanket, but wants Bones more so he doesn’t say anything about a special blanket. Frank never lets him keep two special things in bed, anyway. Just one. Said a second thing got in the way.

He whimpers at the memory of Frank’s hot breath on his neck, and wriggles in the doctor’s arms. Not to get down but to get as close to him as possible. He’d told him he was safe with him. He isn’t sure what safe feels like, but it must be something like when Doctor Coy holds him. Or how Doctor Coy smells. And how Mister Spock tells stories.

The doctor smells different. Not like the drink Frank alway has in his hands, but like the woods Jimmy sneaks into to escape. Or the spiced soup Hoshi makes, that Jimmy loves, that makes his eyes water and his tongue sting so much he has to drink milk. Lots of milk. Enough to make a mustache.

He decides he likes how the doctor smells, even if he also smells like the stuff they used to clean things.

“Shhh,” the doctor whispers, hugging him close like he wanted him to.

He rests his head on Doctor Coy’s shoulder as he walks them up to the glass, where the girl with marks on her face is standing. She looks sad, but Jimmy can’t take his eyes off her. He likes the decoration on her face, and she seems curious, like him. She even presses her face against the glass, smashing her nose. He giggles inside for a second or two before stopping. He never likes it when someone laughs at him. So he won't laugh at her.

She’s younger than the others. She doesn’t seem to be like the others. Something is different. The way she watches him. The way she cries.

“Jimmy, this is Jaylah,” Doctor Coy says.

He likes her name. “Jay-wah,” he repeats.

The darker-skinned woman beside her smiles, almost laughing. He flushes. He said the girl’s name wrong; he is too nervous to say it right.

“That’s right,” Doctor Coy says. He smiles and looks at him with a twinkle in his eye. “Jaylah.”

Jimmy blinks and looks away, now that he’d been caught staring at the girl. Frank never liked it when he stared at people when they were out. Maybe Doctor Coy, as nice as he was, wouldn’t like it, either.

“Hello, James T,” Jaylah says, her eyes shining with tears.

He shyly looks at her and holds his Bunny Bones up in front of his face. Bunny makes him feel better. Maybe she would like him, too, and stop crying.

Jaylah looks at Doctor Coy.

A laugh rumbles from Doctor Coy’s chest, vibrating against Jimmy’s cheek. “I think Jimmy wants you to meet…” the doctor hesitates. “Bunny.”

“Bunny.” The girl sniffs. “Bunny is friend to James T.? That is good.”

He smiles but his face is still hidden and she can’t see it.

“He is cute. Like...like you, James T.,” she says.

“I was right. They like ya,” the doctor whispers in his ear as they take a step to the right.

He nods. People usually do like him. If it isn’t his family, that is.

Doctor Coy shifts Jimmy in his arms so he has to look forward a little more. It’s not uncomfortable, but he still clings to the doctor’s shirt.

“And this...is Nyota,” Doctor Coy says.

“It’s so nice to meet you, Jimmy,” she says, her voice kind and warm.

Like Hoshi’s.

And Hoshi isn’t here.

He sniffles quietly, scratching his nose to hide his face again. Sam always tells him he’s a baby. He isn’t. He just...he just misses her. And Mommy. And...and maybe even Frank. Because if he is around, at least he has something to eat that is warm and cooked. The doctor’s friends are kind, just as he’d said. But Jimmy doesn’t talk to them. He can’t. They’re out there, even Mister Spock, and he’s in here.

He remembers that he was his first friend here on the starbase and looks up to find him. When he does, the corners of Mister Spock’s mouth twitch into a faint smile.

Mister Spock would play with him. Jimmy knows this, but he’s on the other side. He’s behind the glass—the glass—like the others, and it’s—

 _Familiar_.

The doctor hums. “Want to say hello to Spock again, too?”

He nods and reaches out a hand, the doctor moving them towards the glass once his hand is out. Jimmy touches the pane, his palm spread out.

He jumps when he presses against the barrier. He forgot that glass is sometimes cold, but now he understands that he really is sick. The glass is almost too cold to touch. His body is warm. Too warm. When Hoshi came to take care of him when he was sick, she’d place a cool washcloth on his forehead. Cool, like the glass.

 _Glass_.

Spock presses his hand against the glass, too, like Jimmy.

Staring up at him, he feels a strangeness in his chest, and his fingers move on their own. They spread. Two slanting to the left. Two slanting to the right. Forming a V.

Mister Spock’s fingers do the same.

He stares at their hands, touching, if it weren’t for the barrier between them.

Nyota sucks in a breath. “Spock,” she whispers.

“Mister Spock, should ye be doin’ that?” the other man asks, eyes wide.

“Spock,” Doctor Coy says. “Maybe—”

He doesn’t hear the rest. The awful, familiar but strange feeling creeps up his arm into his chest, demanding his attention. His body begins to tremble, like when he’s had a nightmare and awakens in the dark, his bed wet and his body cold and his heart in his throat.

The feeling travels up his spine and into his mind. He jerks his hand away, and so does Mister Spock. He looks up at the commander.

His face is dark as he stares down at Jimmy. Maybe angry. Maybe mad...at him.

He wants to cry but when his feelings, all of them, are about surface, he forces them down. He has to be brave. He can’t be a baby. He has to prove to Sam that he’s strong, like him. So Sam doesn't call him names anymore.

_I want you to know why I went back for you._

A tear slips out as words he doesn’t understand are jumbled in his mind.

“‘S alright, Buddy,” Doctor Coy whispers, rubbing his back.

But it isn’t. Confused and embarrassed and frightened, he squeezes his eyes shut as hard as he can to hide.

He could always hide at home. Always. Maybe he can here.

“Jimmy, you’re safe with us,” the doctor murmurs.

But this isn’t home. It’s a place he doesn’t even know, with strangers. He shakes his head vehemently, not answering the doctor, too warm to think. He squirms and twists in the doctor’s arms until he is finally able to burrow his face into the crook of his neck.

It’s the safest place here. He can hide his face as the doctor holds him. He wants to disappear, to bury himself in a blanket, but he inhales the doctor’s scent, instead. He presses into him as much as he can, away from the flames. But it’s no use.

The glass is behind him. Around him. It’s before him, now, too. Everywhere, closing in.

He has nowhere to hide, after all.

“It’s okay now, Jimmy,” the doctor breathes into his ear. “I gotcha. We can save the other introductions for later.”

Hot. He’s getting so hot. Doesn’t the doctor feel it, too?

He pants for a breath, holds back a whimper because he isn’t a baby.

 _Hot_. So hot.

He wants to open his eyes…

_I am your friend._

….but he can’t.

“Nurse Chapel! I need my tricorder!”

 _Burning_.

“Jimmy—”

He’s now even hotter than before, even under the blankets and, soon, the flames are burning on the inside of his body instead of at his fingertips. He shakes. He squirms. He needs to get away from it.

“Jimmy, you’re safe—”

He kicks. He fights. He burns. He cries.

But he can’t get away. He can’t move. He can’t...can’t breathe.

“H-Hot,” he whimpers.

_I am your friend._

“Spock!” the doctor orders. “Get in here!”

He can’t breathe.

 _Hot_.

Doctor Coy’s arms are too strong for him.

He arches his back in a desperate attempt to get away, stubbornly turns his away as panic rises in his chest.

“No!” he sobs when he can’t take it anymore. “T-too h-hot! H-hurts.”

“Dear God, Spock—”

He’s choking. He can’t move. He’s running away. He sees a long, dark hole. He’s on fire.

“N-no,” he cries harder, his throat beginning to hurt. “M-mom-mmy!”

“Christine, I need a sedative! Stat!”

The soft shirt brushes against his face and reminds him he’s being held.

“Spo—”

He bites down.

“Jes–, Mo—,” the doctor barks out frantic sounds. “Now, Chris!”

His mouth is on fire when he does and he can't stand the pain. He lets go with his teeth as fast as he'd bitten down.

Not a second later, he hears the shrill sound of his own voice. At the top of his lungs. Piercing his skull, the sound driving him into a dark world of loneliness and sorrow.

He is screaming.

 

oOo

 

 

Jimmy thrashes wildly in Leonard’s arms, breaking his heart with his cries. As he juggles the child with one hand, using the tricorder in the other, he spies Spock entering the room from the corner of his eye. There is no time for the decontamination process.

Jimmy is regressing in age for a second time.

“Spock, now,” he barks. “Nurse, we need to test his blood immediately.”

He tightens his hold around Child Jim, his shoulder stinging from where he’d bitten him.

Spock reaches Jimmy before Christine or the other nurse does. He places a hand on the boy’s forehead before Leonard can oppose the idea, spouting every negative outcome that he can think of. He doesn’t have to worry for long.

Jimmy’s crying comes to a sudden stop. Spock lets go.

Jimmy looks up at Leonard, fat tears rolling down his cheeks, making small, helpless sounds in his throat as he tries to catch his breath.

The tricorder demands his attention, but so does Jimmy. Wordlessly, Leonard rushes him over to the bed, but gently sets him down among the covers, rearranging his arms and legs for him so that he’s comfortable. He sweeps his hand over the child’s forehead, brushing back his hair several times.

“You’re gonna be okay, Buddy,” he says softly.

His stomach flips as he stares deeper into the boy’s eyes. All he sees is confusion and fear. And, now, even a little distrust.

“I’m going to help you sleep, Jimmy,” he continues, taking the sedative and empty hypo that Christine hands him.

Jimmy only stares at him.

He gently turns over Jimmy’s arm and takes a blood sample first. “Do you remember me?” he asks the boy, keeping his attention on him, not what he’s doing.

“Doctor?” Spock asks, question in his eyes.

“Do you remember me?” he asks again.

Jimmy nods.

Leonard tamps down any doubts he has in his own mind and smiles. “Good.”

“Doctor McCoy.”

Leonard shakes his head at Spock. “I need one more minute with Jimmy, then I’ll explain.”

“H-hot,” Jimmy says, still shaking like a leaf.

“I won’t put covers on you while you’re hot,” Leonard promises, gently stroking his head. Jimmy blinks slowly. “But I need you to sleep for awhile, so your body can rest.”

Jimmy’s lower lip trembles. “I...I w-was bad?”

“Oh, no,” he says swiftly.

“No?” Jimmy whispers.

“You were scared,” he says reassuringly. “And now with Spock here, and me, you’re not.”

Jimmy nods his head, his eyes darting to Spock and back to him again. “N-not...af-f-f-waid.”

The desire to protect him blooms, again, in his chest. “That’s right,” he says, administering the sedative. “You are such a brave boy, Jimmy.”

“Bunny?” Jimmy suddenly asks, his eyes wide one last time.

Leonard looks around quickly and finds him tucked underneath his small body and places him in Jimmy’s arms. “There ya go.”

Jim’s eyes grow heavy, his eyelashes fluttering shut.

Silence hits the room, as if no one knows exactly what to do next.

He sinks into a chair, trying to comprehend what the hell had just happened.

“What was that?” Christine asks breathlessly.

“I’m not sure.” After a moment, when he hears Jim’s deep breathing, he exhales a long sigh. “Dammit...I didn’t know...the glass?”

“He...remembered,” Spock says slowly.

“All of it?”

“Sensations.”

Leonard glances sideways at him. “It’s not your fault.”

“I should not have done... _that_ ,” Spock spits out.

Leonard gets up, berating himself for taking even a moment of rest. Jim’s life hung in the balance. “He would’ve done it, whether or not you’d placed your hands there,” he argues, taking several supplies from Christine. “It was intuitive for him. You didn't know, Spock. Don’t beat yourself up about it.”

He takes a second blood sample.

“He is different,” Spock says tightly.

Leonard’s eyes trace Jim’s features as he sleeps, noting the slight change in features. “Yeah,” he says roughly. “He is. According to the readings, he’s regressed more than one month in age. Thankfully, he must have retained the same memories. He knows us.”

“You can’t mean that he’s...younger?” Christine asks, voice pained.

Leonard can’t believe it himself. “Yes,” he says quietly. “Yes, I do.”

Christine looks at Spock. “If you hadn’t stopped his cries, calmed him, Commander…”

Her voice trails off, the what-if scenario playing in their minds, nonetheless. At what age would he have stopped regressing? Two? One? An infant?

Spock’s expression fills with turmoil, his human side showing like it did on Altamid. “This is unacceptable. It is most likely a result of his emotional outburst. It...it cannot happen again.”

“Nothing we can do about it now, except keep him at peace,” Leonard asserts. He can’t think about it happening again.

“We must find the correlation,” Spock says, taking the vial of blood from him. “I will begin the process immediately.”

“While he sleeps, we’ll work together. Around the clock.” He hesitates. “This is unfortunate, to say the least, but it could provide us with something we didn’t have before.”

Spock frowns.

“A lead to bringing Jim back to us,” he explains simply. “No matter how small it is, it’ll be better than what we had before. We were able to draw blood soon after it happened, maybe even while the effects were still there. We’ll find _something_.”

“What can we do?”

At the unexpected questions coming from behind him, Leonard turns around. Uhura is still behind the glass, eyes pleading. In the flurry of trying to stop the age regression, he’d forgotten they were there.

“Aye, we want to help,” Scotty chimes.

He shakes his head. “Be patient…”

“There has to be something,” she says quickly. “He won’t feel comfortable here, now. Not with the glass. Not even if there’s just a curtain to hide it.”

“She’s right,” Christine affirms, glancing up at him while she works. “He’ll see it every time he wakes up. Before he falls asleep. It’ll terrify him. Even the reminder.”

“A house,” Jaylah whispers. “A house.”

All of them stopped and stared at her.

“A house?” Leonard echoes.

“Yes,” Jaylah states, eyes glittering with determination. “James T. needs...needs more than a room. You must...make...make _house_ for James T.”

Christine blinks, then smiles. “Something for a child. A nursery.”

“Something...magical,” Uhura murmurs.

“And with music,” Jaylah announces, leaning into the glass as if wanting to be heard better. “With beats. Soft beats.”

Scotty smiles proudly. “Aye, lassie. You may be onto something.”

“Indeed,” Spock murmurs.

“She’s right. A child’s house with gentle music.” Uhura nods, excitement rising on her face. “Let us take care of it.”

Leonard sobers. “You can’t excite him too much with your house, and everything must be decontaminated before it’s brought into this room.”

Spock inhales sharply and takes two steps backwards. “It was a mistake to come in ill-prepared.”

“No, it wasn’t,” Leonard insisted. “Worse would have happened if you hadn’t acted so quickly.”

“If he becomes ill—”

“He’ll be fine,” he tries to assure him. “We will watch him.”

“We’ll take all precautions, and leave the rest to you,” Uhura interjects.

“If I may make a suggestion,” Leonard says, casting his gaze downward at Jimmy’s calm, sleeping form. “He loves his bunny, so something he would like, too.”

When it remains quiet, he looks up to see all of them—Christine, Spock, Uhura, Scotty, Chekov, and Jaylah—staring at him.

“What?” he asks, flushing.

Christine shakes her head at him. “You old softie, Doctor McCoy.”

“Well, the kid practically wears him,” he says, flustered.

Uhura exchanges a look with Jaylah. “I think...we know just the thing.”

 

 

oOo

 

 

The next morning, re-appointed Commodore Harris waits for Paris to contact him for their inevitable meeting.

He is wary of it all; becoming one of two highest ranking officers on Yorktown overnight is intimidating. It wouldn’t be, had it not been sprung upon him. And if he’d had the time to tell his wife. She’d find out on her own unless he managed to speak with her before he speaks with McCoy.

He is up to the task, the challenge of now publically wearing his true rank, but only if Paris is behind him. They’ve had a good, working relationship so far. Cordial. Without the many bumps along the road that numerous other officers have experienced while working so closely together.

Archer would have his back, but there is no one here to guide him, take the fall if this goes south, or advocate for him. He feels the weight of his responsibility as it pertains to Kirk, most of all. He cannot isolate himself, or Paris, from the Enterprise crew. They must trust him above all.

Messenger boy, with a few more stripes to his uniform.

Once he hears from her, he wastes no time and goes directly to her office, absently wondering where _his_ office would be now that things concerning his so-called promotion comes to light.

Her face is shadowed once she is finished speaking with Archer—and Admiral Rylan Whitcliffe—but he can still see their faces on the holovids. Whitcliffe, who is half-human, half-Ikaaran, is clean-shaven, sitting handsomely with perfectly manicured hands.

He’s heard his story already and, from the look on Paris’s face, she has now, too.

“Good Morning, Commodore Harris,” she says when he walks in, a fact for which he is grateful.

He sighs because he can't help but feel tremendous relief by her welcome—a ‘good morning’ on a day like this is more than he could hope for. But he can’t help but wonder exactly what Archer had told her. He hopes he told her everything, in order to make the next hour go as smoothly as possible.

He nods. “Commodore Paris.”

“How is Jimmy this morning?” she murmurs.

“I’ve only looked in to see how they transformed the place,” he explains, recalling the child who’d looked so small on the bed, but happy. Even smiling softly at the “forest” and the woodland treasures all around him. “Doctor McCoy is keeping him awake, though lightly sedated.”

“You haven’t said a word?” she asks, her hands clasped in front of her.

He hates that he will be the one to explain. He thinks it should be Whitcliffe, who is quite the smooth talker, in order that Spock and McCoy could judge for themselves “No. It wasn’t the right time.”

After the upheaval Jimmy had experienced yesterday, both the boy and his caretakers had needed a night and then this morning without tribulation. Without guilt. Without the weight of this upon their shoulders.

It could wait, but not much longer.

Her gaze pierces him. “It won’t be easy, but they won’t blame you.”

“I know,” he says quietly, making his way to sit and face the precarious journey ahead, as noted by two of the most distinguished admirals of the Federation.

Because it is true. McCoy, Spock, and the others won’t blame him, the messenger boy.

They’ll blame Starfleet.

 

oOo

 

 

“One. Two. Twee. Four. Five. I see five fair-wees,” Jimmy says happily, his eyes following them as they floated in the air near the ceiling.

Leonard smiles inside while sending Spock his thoughts on Jimmy’s recent labs. Except for the results staring him in the face and a few inconsistencies with Jimmy’s speech, a slight loss of vocabulary, it is like nothing had happened.

“You do, do ya?” he asks, unable to stop himself from looking up and counting them, too. “You’re right. There are five.”

Not to mention the dozens of fireflies looping endlessly in and out of the trees above, a scene created by holos. Uhura and Jayalah had outdone themselves, adding a fountain in the corner, the perfect, calming touch. He even likes the classical music that is playing in the background. Though he has to admit that he only likes it because it keeps his young patient happy.

“What about those gnomes?” Leonard muses aloud. “I think I see one hiding behind branch over there. He’s a little rascal.”

Jimmy giggles and looks at where he’s pointing. “An’ twee gnomes,” he announces, tucking Bunny under his chin. “That makes eight twee things,” he says to his bunny. “Do you see them, B...” He looks over at him shyly, then back down at his stuffed animal. “Bunny?” he asks hesitantly.

Leonard sends him a warm smile. “It’s okay that you’re keeping his name a secret. You’re not in trouble if you have a secret like that.”

“‘Kay.” Jimmy chews on his bottom lip. “Can we pway a game, Doctor Coy?”

He hates to stop his work, even if they had hardly anything to work with in the first place. However, they’d all agreed that Jimmy needed interaction with them in order to remain a happy, calm child. That is even more important than reversing the regression itself.

“I see that Nyota and Jaylah brought you a few books. May I read to you, instead?” he asks.

Jimmy starts to nod but stops, peering over his shoulder at something.

Or, someone. He turns around to see Lieutenant Harris, dressed in scrubs, holding a mask up to his mouth.

“I’m sorry to intrude,” Harris says, words muffled.

Leonard is genuinely surprised that he’d come now. He’d expected him last night, to check in at least once after Jimmy's ordeal, but the security officer had never showed.

Strange, considering the concern the man had shown for Child Jim.

“Christine,” Leonard says, motioning to the nurse as he rises from his chair. “Will you read to Jimmy while I talk to the lieutenant?”

“Of course,” Chris says, hustling to take his place. She smiles at Jimmy, the stars in his eyes revealing how much he still adores her. “Let’s find one of your favorites, shall we?”

Leonard leads Harris into another, smaller connected room.

Harris discards the mask. “Follow me. Commander Spock is already waiting.”

Leonard narrows his eyes. “Where are we going?”

Harris looks at him carefully. “My office.”

“I can’t just leave,” he protests.

“I’m afraid this can’t wait.” Harris peels off the shirt he’d worn over his uniform.

A uniform just like Commodore Paris wears.

Harris shrugs his shoulders, and Leonard's gaze falls on the stripes.

Commodore? When the hell had that happened?

“Yes, Doctor McCoy,” Harris says with a sharp tug to his sleeves. “As you can see, I’ve been...reinstated, so to speak.”

“Reinstated? You were a Commodore once?”

“It’s a long story,” Harris admits. “But that’s for later. We don’t have time to lose as this pertains to your captain.”

His brain snaps to attention. “It’s about Jim?” he asks, his mind racing with more questions than answers. “Did you find—”

Harris shakes his head. “I can’t answer your questions yet, Doctor McCoy. I fear I left Commander Spock in a quandary, which didn’t set well with him. I will leave you in the same state until we can speak freely—and privately.”

Leonard sighs, acquiescing. “Alright. Nurse Chapel is more than competent to stay with Jimmy.”

He sends a message to Chris as to where he would be and walks with Harris to his office.

“How is Jimmy this morning?” Harris asks.

“Rested and, so far, last night forgotten,” Leonard says.

”I’m glad to hear that,” Harris murmurs, eyes kind as he glances sideways at him. “Without knowing all of the details, I realize it has also been necessary to make a few changes with his comfort in mind. I’m pleased to see him happy and content.”

Leonard smiles to himself. “It doesn’t take much to keep him happy. He likes to be read to. He loves playing checkers. He likes counting aloud—if someone's listening.”

“I’d like to spend a little time with him, once he’s well. My son and I, that is,” Harris adds.

“I’m sure we can arrange a play date,” Leonard says, ‘playdate’ rolling off of his tongue like a well-seasoned father, which he isn’t. “Jimmy misses his friends.”

Harris doesn’t say another word, and Leonard can’t remember another time when he’s been so nervous.

He must have taken them on a short-cut, or maybe his mind had wandered the entire time, because they were approaching his office in no time at all.

Spock stands when they enter, looking exactly how Leonard felt. On edge and tense. Maybe a bit lost. Another day without _Jim_ , the heart that held them together.

Commodore Harris goes to his desk and picks up a PADD. “Take a seat Commander, Doctor McCoy.”

“You have discovered or apprehended the perpetrator,” Spock says.

Harris comes around to the front of his desk and leans against it, arms folded while staring down at both of them. “Yes—and no. What I do know is that this is larger than I had anticipated.”

“Thus, why you have been reinstated,” Spock says.

“Yes.” Harris nods. “Here,” he says, handing the device to Leonard. “There is no easy way to explain things. Trust me, I slept little last night, trying to think of a different way to approach the situation. There isn’t one. It’s all here, in this document.”

Leonard exchanges a glance with Spock, whose eyes slightly narrow. “Shouldn’t Commander Spock see this first?”

The commodore arches a brow. “In this case...no, Lieutenant Commander McCoy.”

He doesn't squirm. It had been a little assertive, but they were all wanting to see this fixed, dammit. And as much as he is worried, he couldn’t forget that Spock is worried, too.

“Open it,” Harris says.

Leonard takes a deep breath and does as instructed.

The message is dated four months ago. He thinks Jim sent his application for Admiral to HQ about that same time.

He reads the header, rubbing his eyes once before reading it again. His heart beats heavily, thudding in his ears until every sound around him vanished.

“Jesus...this can’t be right,” he whispers.

He thinks Harris says something to him, feels Spock’s eyes boring into him, his own mind screaming that this is a set-up—but it’s all he can do just to continue. To fucking breathe.

The backs of his eyes sting as he reads the statement, line by line.

His hands are shaking by the fourth.

And by the last, when he’s done, he tortures himself by reading it all over again.

And again.

Their secrets are out. At least to Harris. Probably to Paris.

Jim’s secrets, the ones he’d wanted closed off for forever, have resurfaced. Not quite like they'd expected them to be, but out just the same.

He knows now that he'd failed Jim for him to have gotten to this place. Failed him, not telling him how he felt. How he loved him. That he was right where he should be—with his family. But if he’d needed something else—a change—he would’ve tried to help him find that, too.

 

 

_I, James Tiberius Kirk, Captain of the U.S.S. Enterprise, have read and thereby agree_

_with the statement and subsequent promise made by Rylan Whitcliffe, Admiral, on behalf of Section 31,_

_to release Doctor Leonard H. McCoy and the crew of the Enterprise from further involvement in or obligation of_

_any action in relation to my death and subsequent resurrection by Doctor McCoy…._

  

 

It would've changed something.

 

  

_...including but not limited to cases against them in a court of law._

 

    

He has to believe that if Jim had been in the right state of mind, if he'd felt whole and confident on his ship, he would have never agreed with this nonsense and signed his soul over to the devil.

Though he doubts that he even knew what they'd had up their sleeves when he'd signed…

And he doubts that Jim had really believed they were a changed Section 31.

Hadn’t Section 31 been shut down after Marcus? Cursed? Demolished?

Who had given them the fucking right to still _exist_?

 

   

 

_In return for their absolute freedom,_

_I solemnly swear to assist in the keeping of the Augments as dictated by Section 31,_

_giving over my own rights to ensure their health and safety…._

 

 

  

Lies. All Lies.

And Jim...backed into a corner...reduced to a test subject...

Were they really thinking of reducing the augments to helpless, moldable children?

 _That_ was their long-term answer? Not to kill, or to keep, but to manipulate?

No, he never would have agreed.

 

   

 

_...and the safety of all who are a part of the Federation of Planets._

 

 

 

Never.

 

   

_Upon my honor, I willingly sacrifice what is necessary for the greater good._

 

 

 

Not even for him.

 

  

 

_Upon the mutual signing of this document, my crew—_

 

 

He'd brought him to this place. He'd brought his best friend to his knees and then sharpened the very sword that they'd used. He'd even yanked his head back by his hair, exposing his throat...

 

 

 

_my family—_

 

  

For the facts were clear.

Jim was Jimmy, not just because Jim had signed a contract—

 

  

 

_shall always be free._

 

—but because of him.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading! Please, review? I'd love to hear from you!
> 
> Many thanks to diamondblue4 and junker5 for editing and offering their insight for this chapter...I appreciate you both so very much!! Remaining mistakes are all mine. (You can blame me for the evil cliffhanger, too!)
> 
> Until next time!


	7. What Shall I Do (When Your Mind's Made Up)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have to confess that I really thought this story would be more fluff than angst. Really! Alas, it's about equal.
> 
> Diamondblue4 and junker5 - I can't say "thank you" enough, for the time and effort you've spent helping me with this story (and others!). *HUGS*
> 
> The chapter is picking up right where we left off the last time. I hope you enjoy this next installment.

oOo

 

Chapter Seven

What Shall I Do (When Your Mind’s Made Up)

 

oOo

 

Leonard’s face falls as he reads in the silence of Commodore Harris’s office. Spock straightens his spine as he waits, his back stiffening as if it was braced by a sturdy rod rather than his illogical feelings of fear. Sitting is uncomfortable. Waiting is irksome. He feels like years have passed, or an indeterminant amount of time. In truth, only seconds have passed. Yet, he cannot bear the suffocating anticipation of the unknown that is dangling before him.

His features schooled, Harris crosses his arms and watches Leonard. He’s no less relaxed than any of them, tension only notable by the clenched jaw. Whatever Leonard is reading, the commodore must find it appalling.

It is difficult to watch Leonard slip into a state of shock, whose steadiness of hand is law on the ship. The doctor’s expression is frozen soon after he finishes reading the document, his fingers slipping from the device he held on his lap. Spock wordlessly reaches over and takes the device from him. Leonard barely notices what he has done.

As Leonard stares down at his hands in a numbed state beside him, Spock reads the same document, signed by both Jim and Admiral Whitcliffe.

His heart aches and throbs in his side like it did when his mother died. When his planet was destroyed. When Jim died. He is stunned by the realization that they—that Jim—may never be free from what had transpired after the Vengeance had crashed. He had hoped they already were, years having passed since Jim had breathed his last and then his first. Years into the five-year mission. Long in the black, far from the cryotubes.

More than Krall’s, Marcus’s and Harrison’s fingerprints are on the Enterprise crew and her captain. Even so, he will not be deterred. Even though he is certain that this is blackmail, he will do all that he can to sever the ball and chain once and for all.

“This is unacceptable,” Spock says with fire in his voice. He looks up and stares at Harris. “And amoral.”

“It’s acceptable to a number of people,” Harris says calmly. “Including Admiral Whitcliffe, who, in light of the situation and his responsibilities, defines amoral a bit differently than you.”

Is Whitcliffe the reincarnation of Marcus?

If only the device he was holding was a sheet of paper. He would crush it. He has no qualms in destroying this contract. Its very essence.

It is worthless in his eyes.

Pointless...

...and a truth which brings staggering pain.

“And you?” Spock asks.

Harris’s eyes do not waver, reflecting his control.

His respect for the commodore rises despite his numerous misgivings.

“I cannot speak of my thoughts on the matter, at least not yet,” Harris says. “I’m under orders to first discuss this contract with you.”

“I am distressed by numerous aspects of this…” _Blackmail_ , “document, but I must first ask...why here? Why Yorktown? Why now?” he asks. “If they wished to use the Captain as a test subject and glean from his regression and regressed state all that they can to achieve their goal, why not transport him to their own facility where he can be properly observed? Where they can acquire data efficiently? It appeared to be an attempt on his life—not an abhorrent experiment.”

Harris grimaces. “I will answer your questions, but only if Doctor McCoy is ready to listen.”

Spock forces himself to look over at Leonard, who has yet to speak. Face pale, the doctor slowly blinks and nods. His hands are unsteady like they had been after crashing on Altamid, before he’d saved his life.

“I-I’m...fine now,” he says with a harsh swallow, his drawl thickening. “Please, enlighten us.”

Harris eyes them both carefully, his gaze resting on Spock before he continues. “Very well. You are correct in assuming that this was an attempt on his life. It was.”

Leonard blinks again. “W-What?”

“Explain,” Spock states firmly.

“It was also a clear, premeditated action to limit your Captain.”

It was both? Alarmed, Spock exchanges a glance with Leonard. Neither of them had expected Jim to have signed a contract, but neither had they anticipated an attempt on Jim’s life.

“That doesn’t...doesn’t make sense,” Leonard says, brow furrowing. “What does one have to do with the other? You can’t try to kill someone—and deage them at the same time.”

“You can...if you require a fail safe,” Spock determines.

Harris’s brows rise. “Yes, Mister Spock. You are, again, correct in this case.”

“So it was or wasn’t Section 31?” Leonard asks flatly. “We are familiar with their penchant for experimentation and manipulation. Not premeditated murder. Only mass murder.” He scowls and grabs the PADD from Spock’s hands, standing abruptly. “This is shit,” he growls, shoving the device towards Harris. “If you know anything about what happened to Jim—and I’m pretty sure now you do—or what happened to his crew when Marcus threatened to kill us all, you must know that. If you know anything about Section 31, you’re an idiot if you think that a signed document would stop them from doing anything that they really wanted to do.”

Harris stares evenly at him, but does not take the device or the bait. “Doctor McCoy, I’ll start at the beginning if you sit down and refrain from calling me names.”

Leonard’s upper lip curls into a snarl. “It’s _shi_ —”

“I know what it is,” Harris interrupts sharply. “And I’ll do all that I can to make this easier for you, if you let me do my job.”

Leonard allows the device to drop on the desk, but doesn't move.

“Section 31 was not shut down as Starfleet wanted you to believe. It was shifted and sorted, remixed, if you will. Obviously, since Marcus was no longer its head, it was necessary to find someone responsible enough to lead it.”

“Whitcliffe stepped up to the plate,” Leonard says, scowling.

Spock had interacted little with the admiral, but from what he had seen from afar indicated that Whitcliffe was well-respected, fluent in numerous languages, and highly intelligent. He was polished. Perhaps...too polished.

“Yes,” Harris concurs. “Over the past few years, under his discrete direction, they’ve been developing a better way to keep the augments.”

“Better?” Leonard guffaws. “Making them children is an acceptable standard these days?”

“Bottom line, Doctor McCoy, High Command believes it is a necessary manipulation. Vital to our security,” Harris says. “Not even a year after Marcus, well after your captain’s run in with the Klingons, Section 31 no longer believed they were safely storing the augments, or even ridding the Federation of a possible threat. We do have enemies who would use them against us.”

“So instead of killing, like Marcus, they stoop just as low?” Leonard counters.

Harris hesitates. “They looked at the bigger picture. It was seen by some as actually offering the augments a life.”

“A life in which they have no choice,” Spock says softly.

“Is this you talking—or them, Commodore Harris?” Leonard asks quietly.

“I am merely the go-between while they are taking care of matters at HQ.”

“You are, as they say, ‘softening the blow,’” Spock determines.

“If that’s how you want to put it, yes.” Harris nods. “But you should understand that High Command has been split down the middle in this decision. Age regression is the lesser of the evils that they discussed.”

“And being lesser makes it right?” Leonard asks, sinking back into his seat.

“No,” Harris says. “It makes it horribly wrong.” He stands and returns to his desk, taking a seat behind it. “Do you recall Maureen and Jasper Hart?”

They know them well. Or had known.

“Yes,” Spock says, exchanging a look with Leonard. “They were siblings.”

The lieutenants had been two of their best security officers, and Jim had often assigned them to the away teams. Jasper Hart had a habit of returning injured. When not on duty, Nyota sometimes met for drinks with Maureen.

One of the siblings had recently lost his life.

“Lieutenant Jasper Hart perished during Krall’s attack on the Enterprise,” Spock says.

“Yes, he did,” Harris replies somberly. “Which left only one Section 31 operative under your captain's command.”

Leonard sucks in a breath. “Operatives? They’ve been watching us? Jim?”

Spock’s eyes narrow. It is not hard to fit the pieces together. “Maureen. She is the one responsible for Jim’s near-death. His regressed state.”

Harris leans forward, looking him in the eye. “The Harts had been ordered to test the formula on Jim without him knowing, and to watch from afar.”

“Why not in a lab?” Leonard asks, frowning.

“As you might recall,” Harris begins slowly, “Touch telepathy stopped your Captain from regressing any further.”

“Because my telepathy ceased his emotional outburst?” Spock asks.

“Yes,” Harris concurs.

“How?”

“As you know, the brain is an intricate part of us. Emotion, various brain activities, can all contribute to the regression itself.”

Leonard shakes his head. “You’re saying that his distress—his terror—exacerbated whatever it is that changed him? And Spock stopped it?”

“Yes.”

“Then he can stop it again,” Leonard insists. “He can reverse—”

“No,” Harris interrupts softly, destroying the hope on Leonard’s face. “Telepathy cannot reverse the process; only stop it. The formula is woven into your Captain’s DNA, Doctor McCoy.”

“Are you sure?” Leonard asks tightly.

“Section 31 has already confessed it had been ill-prepared for such...results. They’d been working to cause a regression in smaller increments, of months, or of one to five years. Not twenty, given the ramifications of possibly experiencing previous trauma all over again.”

“Like Jim?”

“Like Jim,” Harris says softly.

Leonard looks down at his hands, his head sagging in defeat. “Don't you tell me that there’s no cure,” he pleads hoarsely. “I still don’t understand why they just didn’t take Jim to a lab. Why let this happen here? In his quarters?”

“In order to properly test it, they required an element of surprise,” Harris says. “He could not know beforehand, since the formula is sensitive to brain activity. Krall’s unexpected attack changed things, forced them to delay their plans,” he continues. “However, after her brother’s passing, Maureen took matters in her own hands. She wanted revenge and increased the dosage in your captain’s drink.”

“Jim is not responsible for her brother’s death,” Spock says.

“We know that to be true, but she doesn't want to accept it.”

“Where is she? Running free, I suppose?” Leonard asks sarcastically, his eyes flashing with anger. “While an innocent, scared child—who was once four but who is now _three_ —hugs his bunny to his chest in sickbay?”

Harris looks at him with a pained expression. “No, Doctor McCoy. She is not running free. We've apprehended her as of last night. She is in custody awaiting a psychological evaluation. Once that is done, she will be transported to HQ.”

“Let me guess,” Leonard says bitterly. “She's pleading insanity?”

“They will prosecute her?” Spock asks at the same time.

“Yes, they will prosecute her. But she is...unwell,” Harris says quietly. “Grieving.”

“Well, so are we,” Leonard snaps.

“Your captain willingly signed,” Harris points out.

“He didn’t have a damn clue as to what they were going to do,” Leonard snaps, refraining from also stating his suspicions that Jim had been depressed right under his nose for this to happen. “And they didn’t have to tell him, either. They used us to get to him.”

“He was blackmailed,” Spock says, his chest tightening with the implications.

Harris sits back in his chair, nodding in acknowledgement. “Section 31 needed Captain Kirk in order to resolve a matter of security. Your serum, Doctor McCoy, brought a dead man back to life, returned him to full health. A frightening miracle. I say this not to hurt you, but in order to explain that Jim knew they were going to use his body in one form or another in the future. Yet, he willingly signed for your sake.”

“And how the hell would you know that?” Leonard argues.

“Because I informed Admiral Archer of recent events last night, and he unveiled Section 31’s actions. He explained their intentions, which were to prosecute you from the beginning, take away your medical license, and implicate many of the crew as well,” Harris admits. “I approached Archer before your time was up, requiring you to spill Jim’s secrets for the sake of the investigation. I couldn't wait another twenty-four hours. I’ve seen enough over the years to know that something wasn’t right.”

“He knew?” Leonard says, blinking. “Archer knew? And didn’t do a damn thing?”

“Whitcliffe has more power than a man of his age does, quite frankly,” Harris explains, eyes sadly drawn. “A new wave of officers have taken over HQ since he retired; there wasn’t anything he could do but try to talk them out of it. Or delay the experiment, which he _did_ accomplish on Jim’s behalf. But he had no idea it was going to happen this very week.”

“Will they need Jim to complete their observations?” Spock asks quietly.

Leonard’s face falls for a second time. “Jesus, Spock. Don’t even suggest it,” he whispers.

“No,” Harris says swiftly, folding his hands together.

Spock fears he misheard. “Commodore, it is illogical for them to leave Jim here, as their experiment has succeeded beyond their expectations and it is now time to reverse the process.”

“Let me make it as clear to you as possible. They don’t want him,” Harris says in a low voice. “Because they can't help him.”

Leonard laughs bitterly, a hollow sound that echoes in Spock’s ears. “They don’t want to own up to their fuck-up, you mean. Don’t want it starin’ them in the face.”

Harris drops his head in his hands, his fingers digging into his scalp.

Spock hears his shortness of breath without straining and frowns at the sudden and uncharacteristic response. “Commodore?”

Harris’s hands fall as he lifts his head. His eyes are wet. “They acknowledge their error—and Hart’s deception and criminal act—but from this point on, they’ve—”

“Who is _they_?” Leonard growls. “Section 31? Archer?”

“Whitcliffe,” Harris says, the name tumbling from his lips as a hiss. “Archer is not a part of it. Whitcliffe’s made it clear that their only obligation is to ensure that Jimmy Kirk is properly cared for.”

Leonard sucks in a sharp breath. “Only obligation? I beg to differ.”

“What are you implying?” Spock asks.

Harris’s mouth tightens, fine lines appearing around the corners. “If you, with the assistance of our best scientists here at the base, cannot find a way to reverse the regression within two week’s time, it's likely that Jimmy will be returned to his mother.”

 

oOo

 

 

Leonard’s brain wants to shut down at the exact moment that ‘Jimmy’s mother’ enters the picture.

He wants to ignore the very possibility of Winona marching in and stealing Jim away from him, but the facts are staring him in the face.

He wants to grow numb from the pain already filling the empty place where Jim once resided, his hopes and dreams bleeding from him like blood from an open wound.

Reality won’t let him; neither will his heart. He will fight for Jim, even if it costs him his life. Because that is what Jim would do if their places were switched. He will do no less.

“No,” he says darkly, standing. He glares at Harris with all the vehemence he can muster. “He stays with us. End of story.”

“They’ve given you two weeks,” Harris says. “I suggest you take it.”

“He is correct, Doctor,” Spock agrees. “It is a reasonable request.”

Leonard huffs a breath, throwing him a look. “He’s being reasonable? Telling us to give in?”

“It is likely that they will shorten the allotted time if we oppose it.”

“This is Jim, Spock,” Leonard stresses. “ _Jim_. He belongs with _us_.”

“He is a toddler, Doctor McCoy, who only recalls his mother. Not his rank. Not his first officer.” Spock hesitates. “Not even his chief medical officer.”

His pain threatens to choke him. “So you’re going along with this, then?” he breathes out, voice quivering like he’s the emotional mess that he’s trying so hard to avoid. “Is that it?”

“I am not,” Spock says, eyes flickering with hurt. “I am merely pointing out that he is not Jim as we know him. He is a child in need of nurturing, of protection. We would do well to cooperate in hopes that they will listen when we suggest an alternative.”

Jimmy’s small, terrified face flashes through his mind. “You don’t know what she was like, Spock,” he says harshly. “What she's still like. Her and her goddamned brother. Neither of you do.” He looks at Harris, gritting his teeth as he asks, “Are we to speak with Whitcliffe later, then?”

Harris blinks at his abrupt question, an odd expression on his face. “Yes, a conference call along with Admiral Archer and Commodore Paris.” He hesitates and peers up at Leonard, eyes teeming with worry. “What was Kirk’s childhood like?”

“You saw the bruises,” Leonard tersely reminds him, recalling the way Harris had come into the bedroom when he was examining Jim. “You figure it out.”

He thinks of the wrist he’d fixed, the bruises on Jimmy’s hip, the reading he knew was coming later today. And if not today, then tomorrow or the next day or the next day or the next day—and spins on his heel.

“Doctor McCoy, please—”

But he’s around the corner, Harris’s voice already fading. The knots in his stomach grow with each step until he's hunched over and sick with guilt. This was his fault. He’d done this to Jim.

_He’d done this to Jim._

He makes it to the bathroom just in time. He wipes his mouth after he loses his breakfast, breathing in shakily. He should go back, ask for all of the reports Section 31 has on this procedure, and apologize to Harris. Who’d no doubt been ordered to soften the blow. Who’d been placed in an untenable situation, himself. Who, other than Archer and hopefully Paris, was probably their only ally.

With a sigh, he exits the stall, leaning on the door as he does so.

He isn’t surprised to see Spock standing before him, hands clasped behind his back as if it were just another day in Starfleet. But his expression reminds him of Harris’s. Filled with a distinct concern.

“You can do nothing for Jimmy if you are unable to retain your food—and therefore keep your strength,” Spock asserts.

“Ya think?” Leonard says, unable to stop the sarcasm. “I did this to him, Spock. Me.”

Spock rolls his shoulders. “He is _alive_ because of you, Doctor McCoy.”

He shakes his head, biting his tongue to keep himself from uttering another sarcastic remark.

“I informed the commodore that the captain’s childhood...was less than desirable,” Spock continues.

“Well, that’s putting it lightly,” Leonard mutters.

He leans over the sink, grimacing at the sour taste in his mouth as he rinses.

They need to get back to Jimmy. He needs to pull himself together, stop blaming himself, and find the damn cure. He needs to comfort Jimmy when he’s scared, frightened in this strange place. Spend time with him—before they try and take him away— _just in case._

He needs to be two places at once.

Spock steps behind him. “As I am not fully aware of the events in the captain’s youth, I could not make any other statement.”

It’s a question, a plea for more. Leonard straightens and looks up in the mirror. Spock’s eyes beg for more of the truth. Jim’s history, which he had sworn to protect, both professionally and as a friend. Especially as a friend.

But the times had changed. For Jim’s sake, he must think about revealing his sordid past, after all. He sighs, and bends down over the sink for a second time. He rinses his mouth again before shutting the water off.

After drying his hands with a towel and his mouth with his sleeve, he comes face-to-face with Spock and nods. “Fine. But not here.”

“And, Commodore Harris?” Spock asks slowly.

Leonard can’t spill it all to them. Not yet. Definitely not Tarsus. He’d wait, cross that bridge when they come to it.

“What did you mean by _alternative_?” he asks.

“At this time, I am uncertain,” Spock admits. “However, I find myself believing that there is another answer other than Commander Kirk, who has not made an attempt to be a part of her son’s adult life as a captain of his own ship, except for when he calls her on his birthday.”

Leonard is gratified that Spock has made that correlation without much help from him. It isn’t like Jim even speaks of Winona—or his birthday. Perhaps Jim had mentioned it to him at his birthday party. Or, and he wouldn’t fault him for it, he’d eavesdropped.

“You believe in no-win scenarios now, huh?” he remarks with a humorless laugh.

“We are his crew. We are one,” Spock says softly.

He never expected his eyes to sting with unshed tears but they did. How did he ever believe that Spock had no feelings? Especially when it came to Jim? “A team?”

“His _family_. We can be no less.”

Leonard checks the chronometer on the wall. “We can talk more once we’re in the lab. We don’t have time for talking here, Spock, especially if there’s a conference call later on.”

Spock frowns. “And who will stay with Jimmy? He should not be left alone.”

Technically, Jim isn’t alone, if one counts the nurses bustling around him. But he understands what he means and nods. “One or two of the bridge crew. The others—”

“Should remain ever observant and fully prepared,” Spock interjects harshly. “I cannot help but question Section 31’s intentions towards Jimmy.”

His stomach flips. “You mean you don’t believe what they told Harris? About the Harts? Or what they decided about Winona?”

“All of it. Unfortunately, we cannot tell the difference between their truth and their lies.” Spock pauses. “We are almost as vulnerable as our captain. Commodore Harris, included.”

The way they’d used Harris to inform them of Section 31’s actions was cruel. From what he’d observed, despite being security for years, the man wore his heart on his sleeve most of the time.

“In other words, you smell something fishy,” Leonard clarifies aloud.

“Affirmative.”

“For once, I have to agree,” he says with a sigh.

 

oOo

 

Before returning to their work in the lab or to Jimmy and his ‘house,’ they talk.

In the end, they decide Jaylah and Nyota would spend time with Jimmy and keep him company and entertained, with Christine taking twelve-hours shifts that overlapped with their hours. They'd also ask Sulu, if he could bear to be apart from his husband and child for the majority of the next two weeks. That he has a young daughter of his own makes him the perfect choice.

Leonard also reveals the stories that Jim has tried so hard to forget and move past. The almost daily abuse when Winona was off planet, and the abuse that happened under her nose. He almost can’t bear to mention what type of abuse, but does; his words drive a knife into his heart as he speaks them. He can’t look at Spock, especially when he mentions that the legal system had already failed Jim, many years prior. He reveals that Frank is a free man, living in Jim’s childhood home. And infers that even if Winona doesn’t plan to return to Riverside with Jimmy, the threat of Frank is the same as when Jimmy was a child more than two decades ago, simply because of her past history as a negligent mother.

Nothing has really changed, with her or her brother.

Spock is horrified, to say the least. He turns pale, or as pale as a Vulcan could.

While Leonard decides to see Jimmy before losing himself in tests, he can already see that Spock has no plans to accompany him.

“I am emotionally compromised. I must...remain here,” Spock says hoarsely. “To m-meditate. To work. It is my duty.”

“I understand,” Leonard says.

He can’t blame him for staying. Jim's childhood is more horrid than one can possibly imagine—or want to imagine.

“I’ll be back shortly,” he says.

Spock, his back turned to him, stiffly nods. “If it is agreeable, I will also inform Harris—”

“Of Jim's past?”

“Yes,” Spock whispers.

“You don’t have to do that,” he counters, though he’s relieved he’s offered.

Spock’s head shifts slightly, and his shoulders straighten. “Neither do you, Doctor,” he says.

Silence plays in the room, deafening.

“Alright,” Leonard says again when he finds his voice. “Thank you.”

He leaves the lab and walks into Jimmy’s woodland house, stopping short when he spies the small child dashing to the corner to play a holographic game on the wall.

Christine stands beside Jimmy now, but looks up at Leonard and smiles. “He’s feeling better.”

“I see that,” Leonard says.

Now that Jimmy is out of his bed, his legs and feet peeking out from the gown, his malnourished state is quite obvious. But he also looks like a child with a bundle of energy despite his illness and injuries.

She gently strokes Jimmy’s head as he presses buttons on the wall, trying to catch the creatures that pop out of their burrows.

“I hope you don’t mind, Doctor McCoy,” she murmurs, mistaking his silence for displeasure. “His fever is down, and he was—”

“It’s fine, Chris,” he says swiftly. “It’s fine. I’m just…”

She studies him like his mother would. This time, reading behind his silence correctly. “Oh, no,” she says softly.

He shakes his head, though Jimmy hasn’t even noticed he is there yet. “Later, Chris.”

Much later.

How are they going to tell the crew? And Jaylah? Would she understand the mess they were in? Would it be too traumatic for her to hear after all that she’s been through?

Two arms suddenly wrap around his legs.

Startled, he looks down to see a pair of clear blue eyes intently staring up at him. His heart nearly drops at the relief reflected from them. He and Jimmy had a rough start at the beginning. He hadn’t expected the child to warm up to him so quickly, despite their history as adults.

“Well, hello there,” Leonard says softly.

“Doctor Coy, you came back,” Jimmy says in a small voice.

The understanding slowly dawns that he is comparing him to the adults in his young life who had constantly failed him; that even one day, Hoshi had left. “I said I would, didn't’ I?”

“Uh-huh,” Jimmy says, squeezing him.

The boy doesn’t let go.

Leonard exchanges a look with Christine. He doesn’t have the heart to pry the arms from his legs, disappointing him, but he can’t stay long.

Christine kneels beside the boy and rests a hand on his shoulder. “Jimmy, I’m sure you’ve worked up an appetite by now. Are you ready for lunch?” she asks.

He presses his head against Leonard's knees as if to hide, vigorously shaking his head.

“Do you mean I’ll have to eat the milkshake all by myself?” Leonard asks.

He planned on saving the milkshake for later, but at this point, he’d let Jimmy eat them all day to get something in his stomach.

“A milkshake?” Jimmy slowly brings his eyes up. “Reelwy?”

“Can’t think of anything better,” he drawls.

“Can I eat by my fwends?” Jimmy whispers, his tiny hands clenching the fabric of Leonard’s pant legs.

He looks at Christine in question. She nods her head towards the direction of a small table where even smaller chairs were placed and Bunny sat alone. Unless Jim's imaginary friends were there, of course, and then Bunny wasn't alone.

He’d be cramped, lucky if his knees would actually fit under the table, but to sit there for a few minutes with this amazing child, before the next two weeks consume him, it would be worth any discomfort.

He picks him up and cradles him in his arms for a moment, time he doesn't have to spare, feeling as if he'd never held anything so precious and innocent in his entire life.

“You bet,” he says.

And because Jimmy is looking up at him for even more confirmation, for the love he'd never had as a child—he gives him a smile.

 

 

oOo

 

Lukin Harris has always hated his name. It couldn't have been Luke, or even Lukas. His mother had had to pick two family names and stick them together as if they'd belonged that way.

Staring out the window in thought, he takes a break from signing dozens of reports and from speaking with Archer and Whitcliffe as Starfleet tries to clear up the Kirk mess on their end. He thinks it’s strange that his last name bears a curious resemblance to... _Harrison_.

Strange, but not that odd. There’s been far worse coincidences, like the fact that his life had unraveled as soon as he’d been ‘demoted’ for appearances sake. It had only been pure luck that his wife hadn’t divorced him. What had changed her mind, he still doesn’t know.

“Commodore Harris?” his secretary says over the intercom. “Your wife is here to see you.”

Speaking of coincidences…

Lukin returns to his desk, marveling at how nervous he actually is to see her, a woman whose eyes had once sparkled like the stars at the mere sight of him.

“Send her in,” he says, butterflies fluttering in his stomach.

“Yes, sir,” his secretary replies.

He adjusts the collar of his uniform and plasters on the smile he’s always worn for her and their children since coming here to Yorktown.

She comes through the doorway, stopping when their eyes meet.

“Don’t do that, Lukin,” Leesa admonishes softly, the Southern drawl she so tried to hide here reappearing in her speech. “Not for my sake.”

He’d mistake her request for a selfish one, except she is already crying. Has tears in her eyes. An uncharacteristic smudge of mascara on her left cheek. His fake smile falters.

“Please,” she pleads

He wipes it from his face altogether and swallows. “Is something wrong?” he asks. “With you? The kids?”

“Does something have to be wrong for me to visit you?”

He blinks and chooses silence over starting an argument.

She blushes and brings her hand up to her mouth. Her wedding ring glints in the light. “I’m sorry,” she says, words muffled. “Don’t answer that.”

He nods and looks down at his desk. He needs to aid Spock and McCoy in whatever way he can, including looking at Jimmy’s future needs from all angles. He agrees with Spock and McCoy. Under no circumstances could Jimmy be returned to his mother. If she’d been oblivious to the abuse her son had suffered then, it’s likely that she’d be oblivious now.

He’s far from being the perfect father, but Commander Kirk’s past negligence and disregard for Jim’s welfare as a child is shocking.

“Why didn’t you tell me?” she whispers. “Why was I so...so _stupid_?”

He looks up in surprise. “Leesa...”

She shakes her head. “I should’ve known you’d never do anything to jeopardize your place in Starfleet, not after you worked so hard to get there.”

“I couldn’t tell you,” he says, throat almost too dry for him to speak.

She cocks her head, still too far away. “I know,” she says quietly. “Please...forgive me?”

He nods. “Yes, of course.”

She finally walks towards him, her hair falling over her shoulders in soft waves. “I wouldn't blame you if you didn't, Lukin.”

Once she’s standing before him, he takes her by the hand, holding it between the two of his. He can’t think of a time in recent years that they’d done this. Just...be.

“We all make mistakes,” he says ruefully. “Mine was…”

His voice fades as he realizes that he can’t tell her his mistake because it’s confidential.

She kisses his cheek. “You don’t have to tell me. I’ve talked with Admiral Archer.”

He stiffens, unsure what to make of that. “What? He never said anything to me.”

“He contacted me to explain things,” she says, looking at him apologetically. “Well, some things. I have a better idea of what you’ve been doing all this time here as head of security. I also know that whatever it is that has brought you out of hiding is too serious for me to be standing here, wasting your time.”

“You never waste my time,” he says, shaking his head. He tries to smile. “Never.”

“I should go,” she whispers, eyes tracing his face like she used to when they were newlyweds. He squeezes her hand, wishing she could stay. “You have a lot on your mind, Commodore.”

His heart skips a beat hearing her speak his rank. He nods and answers honestly. “I do,” he says. “But I’ll be home tonight.”

His mind is teeming with information, but not enough of it. Like McCoy, like Spock, he is on a need-to-know basis...

“Okay,” she says softly, happiness once again blooming in her eyes. “If you’re not, I’ll understand.”

...and the question that had been burning a hole in his pocket is this—

— if Kirk had signed _this_ document, after significant time had passed since his death, what was the likelihood that he'd been forced to sign another contract years ago, soon after he'd been revived?

The answer comes to him quietly after he kisses Leesa goodbye and before he meets with Paris.

There is no doubt in his mind.

The likelihood?

Astronomical.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yes, another cliffhanger-ish ending. Don't throw tribbles at me! :)
> 
> I'll be updating And If I Stand next...so Chapter 8 of THIS story will come after that, in about a week or two (I hope!). Writing feels very inspired these days, so I can't imagine that there'll be a long wait. And, hopefully, I haven't just jinxed myself. LOL. Thanks again for reading. Please, review? I'd love to hear from you! :)


	8. Quietly I Feel Your Whisper Settle On Me (Quietly I'm Carried On)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My apologies for taking so long to update! I'm back, though, and hope to get things rolling again.
> 
> Thank you, diamondblue4 and junker5, for cheering me on with this chapter. And, as always, for your attentiveness to editing and your other comments!
> 
> I've appreciated all of your comments on this story - they mean a lot! If I haven't replied to them yet, please know that I intend to soon.
> 
> I've included artwork that I sketched a few weeks back, two drawings that were inspiration for this particular chapter. Hope you enjoy them. I don't draw very often, so hopefully they're decent enough to share. LOL. Happy reading!

oOo

 

  
Chapter Eight

Quietly I Feel Your Whisper Settle On Me (Quietly I'm Carried On)

 

oOo

 

“The end,” Nyota announces to her young charge sitting attentively on her lap.

She closes the book in her hands with a soft snap, catching sight of Jimmy’s sad expression that the story is over.

A sad, _pitiful_ face.

Her heart squeezes with the love for this boy. Knowing he’s missing a certain doctor, she thinks quickly, adding, “And that, James T. Kirk, is how the little boy with the mop of blonde hair and mischief in his blue eyes found his way back home through the Forest of Gnomes.”

She grows quiet and waits for his reaction. She is not disappointed. Jimmy’s series of giggles carry across his room to the nurse on duty, who turns her head and smiles at him.

He sighs with a soft exhale, ending his laughter. “There wasn't a Forwest of Gnomes in the storwy, Miss Ny!” he insists, a small furrow to his brow. “It was the Boy and the Mouse in the Sea of Cupcakes!”

“The Sea of Cupcakes?’ Who ever heard of such a thing?”

Jimmy’s eyes droop with sleepiness, but he fights it and peers up at her. “Uh-huh. Cupcakes. You forgot, Miss Ny.”

Nyota taps a finger against her chin. “Hmm, I wonder how I got that wrong,” she hums, looking off in the distance through the window, feigning deep contemplation. “Well, at least I didn’t forget about the little boy. I wonder if he is real. He sounds like he might be. I wish he was,” she finishes with a sad-sounding sigh.

Jimmy tugs on her sleeve.

She looks down at him just as he yawns. “Yes, Jimmy?”

“Don’t be sad, Miss Ny! He's weal! The little boy is me, Miss Ny!” he whispers urgently. “Me!”

“It’s you?” She tickles his belly.

He erupts into giggles, but doesn’t push her away. “I have blonde hair and blue eyes!”

She stops tickling him, her breath catching at the delightful innocence in his voice and the trusting smile he is so quick to give her and his other caretakers. This is only her second shift watching over him, yet he’d found a way into her heart the minute she saw him through the glass, looking scared and small.

“I think you’re right! You look just like I imagined him to be.” She gently presses her finger against the tip of his nose. “Our very own bright, little blonde boy with blue eyes.”

He holds his breath. “Realwy? Your vewy own? And Dr.Coy’s? I miss him.”

She can’t imagine anyone not being charmed by this small child. That anyone had ignored his innocence and intelligence at such a young age leaves her heart in pieces. “Yes, Jimmy.” She hugs him. He smells fresh and clean from his bath and, dare she say it about their young captain, quite cuddly. “Our very own. _Especially_ Dr. Coy’s. Now, off to bed.”

His face falls. “Does it havta be my bedtime? Can’t we wead another storwey?”

Remembering Christine’s caution as she began her shift, that Jimmy has discovered a few good hiding spots in the room, she stands with the boy in her arms and takes him to the bed herself. He yawns and rubs his eyes as she lays him down on his back. He looks at her groggily as she removes his slippers, careful not to tickle the bottoms of his little feet, his most sensitive tickling spot, and places the slippers on the floor.

“It sure does,” she says, smiling to herself when he yawns again. “Can you see outside through the window over there?” she asks, knowing full well that he can.

The space station’s artificial light has diminished until there is nothing except for hundreds of soft lights twinkling back at them through the darkness.

“Uh-huh.” His eyes start to close, but they pop wide open again before she has a chance to pull the blanket over him and tuck in under his chin. “I can’t go to sweep!”

“Jimmy,” she protests as he scrambles out from under the covers.

“I can't, Miss Ny.” He tries to crawl out of bed, but she gently stops him before he reaches the edge.

According to all the nurses, Jimmy is lightning-quick, and in the days he’s been here has been known to disappear in a blink. “Jimmy? What’s wrong?”

“My bunny!” His eyes roam the darkened room, searching in one corner and then the next in a frantic manner. “Where’s my bunny?” he asks, the high-pitched cry tugging at her heart.

She smoothes his hair back from his forehead affectionately. “Oh, sweet thing, I am sure he’s just where you left him last time.”

Tears fill his eyes. “B-but I l-lost him!”

“He couldn’t have gone far.”

He shakes his head. “But I lost him!’

“We will find him, I promise.”

His eyes fill with distress, his breaths quick and shallow, as if he’d been running. “No, no, I lost him didn’t I? It’s all my fault! Mine!”

He cling to her, his fingers digging into her skin, as she tries to wriggle out of her embrace

An alarm sounds from the monitor beside them, alerting medical personnel of his accelerated heart rate. A danger zone, according to Spock and Leonard, who are positive that it can cause Jim to regress.

Her mouth tightens as she turns her head to catch the attention of the nurse, but the nurse is already hustling towards them, hypo in hand.

He raises his hands up as the nurse approaches and tries to shrink away, with a cry, but is blocked by Nyota’s enfolding arms. “No! D-don’t hurt me!”

“Oh, Jimmy, no one’s going to hurt you.” She draws him close to her chest, soothing him with a tender murmur in his ear and light strokes along his back. “It will help you sleep, like last night.”

He stiffens in her embrace. Taking advantage of the moment as he remains still, the nurse dispenses the medication into his neck.

“It’s just a light sedative this time,” the nurse whispers. “He’ll calm down and be ready to sleep soon. I’ll also need to take a blood sample.”

Jimmy whimpers, and no wonder. He’s had a steady wave of vaccines since his seclusion, with more tomorrow, and the last of them the following day.

“I promise I’ll find your bunny,” Nyota repeats gently, distracting him as the nurse draws his blood.

His bottom lip wobbles. “But I did lose him, just like Mo—”

He abruptly clamps his mouth shut and looks straight ahead, like an AI, shut down with a push of a button.

His expression closely resembles his adult self when he faced trials as the captain of the Kobayashi Maru simulation. Now, however, it looks alarmingly like a child who is protecting himself from past hurts with a rigid, full body mask, and it frightens her.

“Like who, Jimmy?” Nyota questions, rubbing his back in conciliatory circles as the sedative begins to take affect. This isn’t normal behavior for him. There has to be an underlying cause for this constant worry.

He doesn't respond.

“That’s okay,” she assures quietly. “You don't have to tell me.”

When he doesn't relax, she guides him back down on the bed. He stares up at the ceiling, despondent and motionless save for a slow blink of his eyes.

She looks at him in concern. If only Leonard or Spock could spare the time….

“Let me find Bunny for you.” Her gaze drops to the floor, near the end of the bed. The bunny’s arm sticks out, and she wonders why she hadn’t seen it earlier. “There. I see him.” She leaves Jimmy’s side momentarily and picks the toy up off the floor, dusting it off with a few light pats to its body. “I think he fell when you got out of bed the last time.”

She places it beside him, and he takes the toy and hugs it to his chest.

“There, now, he’s safe with you,” she soothes, tucking him in again. “Two peas in a pod.”

As before, he doesn't react, something in his expression warning her that not all is right with him.

She stays another moment, holding on to his hand, but he says nothing else that helps her understand his inner turmoil. Patiently she waits, just like she said she would, and when his eyes finally close, she breathes a good-night and presses a kiss to his forehead.

She crosses the closely monitored and contained room, wondering when she can speak with Dr. McCoy about her concerns. She is in the process of writing him a message when she hears Jimmy moving again, a shuffling across the bed and thump on the ground.

She takes a sharp breath, a sharper turn on her heel. “Oh, no, Jimmy!” she exclaims.

The bed is empty, as she feared, and he is most certainly hiding under it—for the second night in a row—his moving shadow giving him away.

His sniffling stirs the motherly concern she has developed for him, his cries increasing in intensity as she approaches.

The nurse is right behind her. “That sedative should have put him to sleep by now,” she says, confusion on her face.

“Maybe he's afraid he’ll have a bad dream,” she suggests quietly, kneeling beside the bed.

“Whatever this is, I’ll have to to tell Dr. McCoy,” the nurse decides. “He wants to be alerted if Jimmy experiences any emotional distress or doesn’t respond to the medication. Try to get him out. We don’t need another incident like before.”

No, they don’t.

Nyota peers under the bed to find Jimmy wrapped around his bunny like a cocoon fits around a caterpillar. She can reach him and pull him out, but she doesn’t want to startle him so that he moves beyond her reach.

“Jimmy? Will you come out so you can tell me what’s wrong?”

“No-nothin’s wr-wr-wong.”

She recalls his reluctance to eat when he was told to try his vegetables. “Are you hungry?”

A little shake to his head tells her no.

She shifts her body, now sitting Indian style on the floor, hoping to relax him enough to come to her. “It’s warmer in your bed, Jimmy, and if you want, I can read you another story.”

His eyes glisten in the darkened, cool space, and he shakes his head.

“Okay,” she murmurs, backing away. “But I’ll have to sit here, too, on the floor to make sure you’re okay.”

He curls his shoulders, bending over his bunny as tears course down his face and onto his bunny’s head, creating a small, wet spot.

Her heart constricts, instinctively knowing that something very serious is bothering him. She can’t reach him to offer comfort, unless they move the bed, but she doubts that Jimmy will come easily to anyone then, perhaps darting away. And, like the nurse said, they don’t need another incident that ends in age regression.

“You can sit here, on my lap, for awhile,” she offers. “I won’t ask anymore questions.”

“Pwomise?”

“I promise.”

He scoots his way out from under the bed, staring up at her with glazed eyes.

A small victory.

Before she can wrap her arms around him, he reaches for _her_ , his arms open, a look in his eye that says ‘love me.’

“Oh, Jimmy.” She picks him up without hesitation, blinking back tears. He’s like putty in her hands as she places him onto her lap and holds him close, his thin body limp in her arms.

She keeps her promise and doesn't intrude. It appears like Jimmy is not unlike his adult self, after all.

After a pause, however, he surprises her. “M-miss, Mommy,” he whispers, twisting his fingers in her hair.

She closes her eyes, suppressing a sigh at his admission. “Once they reach her, she will call you, Jimmy.”

It’s an assurance for Jimmy, but not for his crew, who wish to keep as much space as possible between Jimmy and Winona Kirk.

He holds his breath, and it’s as if he’s holding his pain back with all the strength that he has left. She holds him tighter, hoping that he doesn’t recall dying behind the glass again, or anything else that could cause this much pain.

A tight breath finally escapes, and the next words are brokenly spoken. “She w-won’t.”

A shiver crawls down her spine.

How can a _three-year-old_ even understand such things about their own mother?

“Sh-she f-forgets about m-me,” he stammers.

Years ago, she’d overheard the captain tell Spock that his mother had been estranged from him, but it doesn’t excuse anything like this, ignoring an innocent child.

He looks down. “Just like I forgot ‘bout B-” He gulps. “B-bunny.”

For once in her life, she doesn’t know what to say.

But she must say something. Anything, to soothe his worries. He has nothing else but their comfort to rely on.

“Oh, sweetheart. No one has forgotten about you. Just look at your bunny, Jimmy,” she breathes out, carefully getting to her feet with him in his arms. “He was found again. I’m certain he was looking for you, too, Jimmy. His hand was out, just like this—” She sticks her arm out, coaxing a crooked, tired smile out of him. “— like he was reaching for you.”

“An’ Mommy?” he whispers. “Will she reach for me, too?”

She kisses the top of his head to cover the emotion clogging her throat. Leonard would know just what to say to him. He should be here with Jimmy, not her. As important as it is to formulate an antidote, she can tell a difference in Jimmy when the doctor is not around.

“As soon as we find her, sweetheart,” she says hoarsely.

She clings to her hope that Winona remains in the unreachable depths of space for days to come.

He turns on his side once she places him on the bed. He hugs his toy as the nurse administers another sedative, but does not make a sound. When she’s done, he holds Nyota’s gaze with a familiar intensity in his baby blues before they close and he whispers a name, falling into a deep, medicated sleep.

But it is not his mother’s name he calls.

It's Dr. McCoy’s.

 

oOo

 

After receiving Uhura’s message about Jimmy, Leonard makes a last-minute and possibly, rash decision. He has no time to spare. They are simply running out of time, but he takes three extra minutes in the decontamination area attached to Jimmy’s room. He’s spent days in the lab and can’t be too careful, even if it is allowing him just enough time to watch Jimmy sleep for a few minutes and check the nurses’ notes for the day.

He simply can’t get the image of Winona flying in here, with guns blazing in less than two weeks, and stealing Jimmy away from them all.

When Spock enters the decontamination area, he doesn’t even hear him.

“Dr. McCoy.”

The firm way he speaks the name into the speaker pulls him out of his living nightmare. He lifts his head and sees Spock through the glass.

Hope blooms in his chest. “You found something?”

Pain flashes across Spock’s face.

Leonard is not gratified that he can recognize it on the Vulcan so easily now.

“I have not,” Spock says.

The air rushes out of him. He knows better than to hope, but he rests his hands on the glass, waiting. Whatever Spock has to say, it’s important, or he would have never sought him out. He was aware of his plans to return to work with him in the lab within the hour.

“What is it?” he asks, not hiding his disappointment.

“Lt. Hart has been cleared to face trial,” Spock says, but his face shows no sign of relief.

Leonard watches Spock warily, uncertain of the emotion reflected in the commander’s eyes. “That’s good news, isn’t it?”

The agent can now answer questions that _they_ have about Jim’s regressive state, possibly going around Section 31 with Commodore Harris’s help. That has to be good news. Hart is mentally stable, or at least stable enough for court.

He shakes off his anxiety and steps out from behind the glass, blaming his paranoia on the fact that he’s barely slept since they’d begun their work in the lab.

Spock’s mouth flattens. “There has also been another breach in security.”

 _Goddammit_. The news twists his stomach into knots.

He knows it isn’t Jim, because he’s right next to the damn room, the fucking door that's protecting the child. He knows it isn’t Jim.

He knows it isn’t him.

_He knows._

He swallows and forces himself to ask, “Not Jim?”

“No.” Spock bows his head, not meeting his eyes.

He laughs nervously. “Spock, you're scarin’ me.”

Spock, at least, doesn't keep him in suspense. “It was—”

Leonard listens as Spock continues to explain the new development, but he is frozen in place as the implications become clear. He wishes that Spock had kept him in the dark for a little bit longer.

He does not check in on Jimmy that night, but forgets all that Uhura had told him about one particular, love-starved little boy.

After giving himself a reality check, one that points him towards his damn job, the task at hand that requires his expertise, he swiftly retraces his steps back to the lab.

Not resignedly, but _infuriated_.

All that he _can_ do, to fix _this_ , to fix _Jim_ , is there.

 

oOo

 

The hangar at Yorktown hums with the activities of the morning. It energizes Jaylah, and she joins the familiar repair work with even more vigor. The hangar’s walls are lined with hundreds of ships in various states of completion along its multi-kilometer stretch, and there is no end to the diversity in vessels. Engineers, crewmen, and officers mill about, most of whom ignore the battle-scarred and smaller, prototype Oberth-class vessel tucked in between two larger vessels in a last minute docking and the small crew who’d been hard at work for days finishing repairs.

Jaylah smiles to herself as she fine-tunes the ship’s sensors alongside her newfound friends, an unlikely trio she had found camaraderie with since she came to Yorktown. The fourth and fifth crewmen are absent, a retired Starfleet captain named Numeer and his first officer, Lt. Xucan, Xu for short. The former officers are being briefed for a mission with a group of scientists who will board their ship next week. Five crewman is all the vessel requires to operate, though it can hold dozens of passengers.

Starfleet sometimes confuses her, and Captain Numeer and his crew are no exception. The strange thing that she can’t understand is why—and how—Captain Numeer had volunteered to take the scientists on their mission. She also doesn’t understand how this crew, with retired officers and reformed criminals, could own this ship, a large house, with permission from Starfleet to use it in whatever manner they desired.

But it isn’t her business. Repairs are her business. She’d been asked to help them, after Montgomery Scotty had ‘put in a good word for her.’ She’d agreed at once. When she is not watching over James T, she is easily bored and would rather work on a ship than walk around aimlessly. She doesn’t enjoy the sights of the star base when James T is a little boy and needs their help—and can't even go outside yet like she can.

Deep in her work, she absently tries to follow along with the music blaring off the walls of the ship. She doesn’t understand all the words to the music, but it doesn’t bother her. Before he’d become a small child, James T had told her that, sometimes, not knowing the words to the music was the entire point of the song, and half the fun of it.

Recalling the coming of age ceremonies she’d experienced in her childhood, which required nonsensical chants to confuse outsiders who were listening, she had nodded in understanding.

Maybe it was something like that.

“Beats and shouting, eh?”

The grumble of the half-human Voohan named Qurtett, a female alien who looked human except for the faint patches of fur on her extremities and a strange adornment to her head, startles her. She hits her head on the panel above her, pain shooting through her temple.

“Heelat!” Jaylah exclaims, cursing in her native language.

She gives the Voohan a narrow look and drags her arms across her sweaty brow while standing. Unused to this much heat, she sets her jaw and turns down the ship’s thermostat with the push of several buttons.

Jaylah sets down her scanner and sinks to a seat on the floor, drawing her knees up. She wipes down the tools then puts them away.

“Are you sure you want to become an officer in Starfleet?” Qurtett asks. “Give up this?” She makes a face and waves her hand at the other crewmen—two squabbling brothers—heading for the back of the ship. “They waste too much of our time. My time.”

Jaylah is more interested in Qurtett, however, or rather, the top of Qurtett’s head that moves with her. The thin, softly-furred animals that resemble Terran woodland creatures but are, in reality, symbiotic life forms, uncoil from her head and bare their teeth.

Jaylah had learned quickly that Qurtett does not like that part of herself and usually tries to hide the creatures. But her friend does not like the brothers much, either, at least when they squabble.

Neither does she. The arguments the brothers find themselves in, the ones Qurtett usually has to fix like an older sister, are silly. She ignores their spats, as her friend calls them, mainly because they look like her, but are taller. No one else here resembles her, and perhaps there are others who resemble her at the Academy. “Yes,” she says after a beat.

Qurtett snorts. “Give me one good reason.”

She thinks of her old house on Altamid. “I like big houses, but in sky.”

Qurtett looks amused. “Give me two good reasons.”

That isn’t hard. The Enterprise crew has done much for her, and she feels she should repay them. And prove to herself that she can do this. “They say they pulled...strings?”

Her friend pauses and looks up at her. “How many?”

Jaylah does not know. Had James T told her the amount?

“How many strings?” Her friend looks at her innocently.

She still could not think of the correct number, but she can wipe the smirk off Qurtett’s face. “I do not know, but James T, he pulled them,” she states, kicking her foot against the panel Qurtett had just been working on.

That part of the ship roars to life, covering Qurtett’s astonished laughter. She steps back and grins at Jaylah. “Listen to that.

“Why was it sleeping?”

Qurtett’s smile falters. “Never mind that.” She spins around and strides towards the steps that lead from the ship to the floor of the hangar.

Jaylah cannot ‘never mind that.’ She follows her down with sure steps to where she stands, staring at the ship next to them.

Jaylah peers beyond her shoulder. She recognizes one person in the cluster of officers who are talking and have stolen Qurtett’s attention.

Commodore Harris, the man that James T’s friends trust, has a fierce look on his face as he gestures first at the other ship then at Qurtett.

Jaylah’s friend stiffens. “He’s back.”

“Why?”

“I don’t know, my friend.” Qurtett’s creatures shiver as they fall into place, hiding upon her head.

Jaylah stares at the animals, no longer perplexed by the creatures’ purpose. They are reflecting her friend’s emotions. “You are...afraid?”

Qurtett twirls around and narrows her eyes on Jaylah. “Afraid? Mad is more like it. I am done flitting about like a common pirate,” she spits. “They cannot take that away from me.”

Qurtett brushes past Jaylah, just as Commodore Harris begins walking their way.

Jaylah does not mind speaking to him—for why else is he heading towards them—but she does not wish to do so when her friend is upset. She follows Qurtett, who has not gotten far.

Her friend leans against the side of the ship, her back towards the commodore. “They always ask questions,” she whispers. “Never satisfied that I am not going to return to my old life.”

“He is not like them,” Jaylah says. “He is kind to James T.”

“Your captain? No wonder,” she scoffs. “He is a hero. I bet he has never spent time in a wretched prison for crimes he committed.”

Jaylah bites her lip. She cannot say that she’d meant child Jim. No one knows about him but a few.

“I should not cower.” Qurtett suddenly clenches her fists. “Captain Numeer has taught me courage. I must use this, even if I’m to face a man like Harris. I know their kind. Handsome and arrogant and powerful. They don’t look twice at someone like me, let alone believe what I say. They only see... _beasts_.” She waves her hand towards her head. “A curse of the Voohans.”

Jaylah likes them. Her friend has let her crack nuts between their teeth, even chew a cord in two. “They are...like my old traps. Useful.”

Qurtett turns and smiles, but it doesn’t reach her eyes. “Thank you, my friend. I know I can always count on y—”

“Excuse me,” a warm voice interrupts from behind Jaylah.

“Commodore,” she says as she pivots on her heel.

Harris is smiling, but like Qurtett, it does not reach his eyes. “Jaylah, I did not realize you were assisting Captain Numeer and his crew with his ship.”

“It...keeps my head from spinning.”

His smile saddens. “I know what you mean.” He glances at Qurtett and nods. “I would like to talk with both of you.”

Qurtett exhales a sigh. “About?” she grumbles.

Harris lifts a brow, but does not comment on her disrespectful reply. “Can we talk inside?”

“Yes,” Jaylah asserts, pulling Qurtett back up the steps to the ship when she did not move.

She does not like her _other_ friends being treated with disdain, especially this man who helps James T.

Once they are inside, Harris crosses his arms. “Let me get straight to the point. We are following a lead we have in an investigation that I must resolve as soon as possible. Were either of you here between 1900 and 2200 hours last night, when there was a unprecedented power outage in this area?”

“No,” Jaylah says.

“Is this about the woman sneaking onto that ship?” Qurtett asks, folding her arms to mimic Harris’s stance.

Harris snaps to attention, looking at the Voohan in surprise. “A woman?” His brows raise. “You were here?”

She shrugs. “Maybe.”

He smiles tightly. “When did you see this woman?”

“It was nearing 2000 hours.” Qurtett scowls. “And I only saw her shadows while I worked by my lantern.”

“How can you be sure it was a woman?”

Qurtett’s chin lifts stubbornly. “I committed my crimes in the dead of night, and I am half-human. I know.”

Harris stares at her quietly. “I did not mean to offend you...Qurtett, is it?” When she does not answer, he continues. “I merely ask because most Starfleet officers could not give me a sure answer like that.”

“I am not a Starfleet officer,” Qurtett mutters. “I’m not even in Starfleet.”

Harris’s steady gaze holds hers. “No, but you are just as or even more observant.”

Her nose turns up. “Hmph.”

“Is there anything else you can tell me about her? The time she spent in the ship?”

“I could smell her, because I’m half-Voohan.”

“I see. And?” Harris prods.

Qurtett sighs. “She left in ten minutes and tripped as she left, stumbling in the dark, maybe falling against the side of the ship.” She shakes her head, smirking. “I would have not have done that.”

“No, I imagine you would not.” Harris looks pleased with the information. “Thank you. That will help. If you recall anything else about the woman—”

“I’ll contact you,” Qurtett interrupts disrespectfully, watching him with a measured look.

“See that you do,” Harris says after a pause, his eyes also narrowing. “Do not tell anyone else what you saw or that you were here last night.”

Qurtett glares at him. “Do I look stupid?”

“No, on the contrary. You look like someone who would follow orders when it counts.” He frowns. “Like now. This is your life we are talking about.”

“ _My_ life,” Qurtett fires back.

Harris’s jaw looks angry, jumping fiercely at the sides. “And I am responsible for yours, as well as all the others on this space station.”

His eyes gleam with challenge. Qurtett’s gaze pierces him in return.

Jaylah is certain that if left in a room, the two would fight with more than just words.

Qurtett breaks eye contact and grumbles to herself as she leans against the ship. “If you don’t mind me asking, Commodore, what is this investigation about?”

Harris hesitates, and looks at Jaylah, not her. “A murder.”

“We have never had murders on the Yorktown.” The crewman scowls. “Other than Krall.”

“I am aware of that,” Harris clips.

Jaylah does not like the feeling of her heart dropping to the floor. The murder must connect to James T.

“Who?” she whispers, unaware of Qurtett’s curious look.

The commodore does not shift his gaze from them. “Both of you will find out soon enough. We believe that whoever used the ship last night controlled a probe from it that killed a prisoner. A prisoner who was to begin the journey this morning back to Earth for their trial.”

Jaylah sees danger creeping towards James T. and his friends, quickly and quietly. This Section 31 that does not want its secrets out.

“A prisoner?” Qurtett asks.

But Harris looks at Jaylah. “Lieutenant Hart.”

 

oOo

 

After a day of quiet playing, Miss Ny puts Jimmy to bed. He turns on his side and stares at the wall, wondering what he’s done to make Dr. Coy stay away.

Mr. Sulu arrives when he is still trying to go to sleep.

He sees them talking to the nurse, their backs to him, and shivers right out of his covers, taking a smaller blanket with him. He crawls underneath his bed and cowers on the cold floor. He burrows under his blanket like his bunny would if he were real.

He can't sleep when Dr. Coy hasn't visited him. He didn't come today. Or yesterday. Or the day before.

But more guards came. They stand right outside his room.

Sadness fills his heart, forcing tears from his eyes. They burn his cheeks. They make him feel weak, but he can’t help it. His arm itches from his vaccination. His belly, too. And his new bruises hurt.

He sniffles, hearing the voice of the nicest nurse, Christine, from somewhere in the room.

They’ll ask him what’s wrong once they discover he’s under the bed, but he doesn’t want to tell them anything this time. Uncle Frank never likes it when he talks too much. Maybe they don’t, either.

Maybe that’s why Dr. Coy doesn’t come anymore.

Mommy doesn't call.

Dr. Coy doesn't come.

He cries more, _hoping_ that Uncle Frank _doesn't_ come.

He hugs his bunny, squeezing all the love he can get from him, like Hoshi says she does when she hugs _him_.

He curls into himself, missing the soft bed, though he doesn’t mind being on the floor. He likes it better than his bed, sometimes. Here, he and his bunny are hidden from all that can harm them.

Footsteps approach, but Hoshi’s voice rings through his thoughts the loudest, telling him that not all is lost.

_Not all is lost._

He hears another voice in his mind, this time a male one, telling him that everything will be okay.

He agrees with them, because they are right.

He wipes his eyes with a fist, growing determined.

At least he has his Bones.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading! I couldn't resist drawing "Bunny Bones," and giving you all a better picture of him. And Little Jim, too. 
> 
> I know I didn't touch on certain things, like any other contracts Jim could have signed, so expect more answers to that and other questions in future updates. And, perhaps, a kick in the rear for McCoy. Jimmy needs him. :(
> 
> I do have the next chapter partially finished so there should be more soon. Thank you for your patience as I get in the groove again! :)


	9. How Did We Forget (That Love Was On Our Side)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just a head's up that Spock may act a little OOC in this story because of the strain of the situation, beginning with this chapter. Not too much, but just enough that I wanted to mention it. 
> 
> Thank you, Diamondblue4 and junker5, for editing this chapter - this LONG chapter. I know it's work - and I greatly appreciate the time you invest into the story. 
> 
> I almost split this chapter up but didn't want to disappoint any of you with the lack of Jimmy and McCoy moments. :D So you get an unusually long chapter this time. Thanks for reading!

 

oOo

 

 

Chapter Nine

 

How Did We Forget (That Love Was on Our Side)

 

 

oOo

 

Sitting in the opposite corner from McCoy in the lab, Spock regards Archer on the viewscreen for the seventh time in just three short days.

There have been more questions than answers. More doubt than assurances.

He feels the tightening of the noose as the end of the two weeks close in, the time at which they must relinquish the young captain to his mother. A woman who has failed to care for and nurture him from the first time she held him in her arms.

He has not let a moment pass by without looking for a way that will allow them to keep their small captain under their care. He cannot fathom Winona Kirk deep in the bliss of a second-chance at motherhood, lovingly cradling her son in her arms, for he is unable to believe the woman has an ounce of compassion for her son within her. Jim may call her on ‘Remembrance Day,’ the anniversary of his father’s death, and his birthday, but it does not mean that she answers. Or, if she does, that she asks about her son’s well-being beyond a barely socially acceptable inquiry.

He does not know if Jim has read the logs of those who witnessed his birth in the shuttle, but _he_ has. He has not confessed to Archer his recent, criminal behavior, his hacks into the confidential and personal files of the Kelvin crew, nor will he. It was also necessary to protect Jim, his friend and captain. For now, he, along with two others on New Vulcan, are the only ones who know that it is possible to begin building a case against Winona with a few presses of a button and the testimony of Jim’s brother, Sam, could they find him and prove her negligence.

After the baby had been placed in Winona’s arms, and the initial shock of losing her husband had worn off, she had ignored her own son, refusing to look at him for the duration of the shuttle ride as she grieved with her back turned towards him.

Her disregard of her own newborn son had not ended there.

Indeed, she had pushed him away from the moment they were rescued, and medical personnel had detailed her behavior not only in her medical file—but their personal logs. There is also documentation of continuing intervention for up to four weeks following Jim’s birth, from visiting nurses and other health professionals. However, after that date the records are incomplete, and strangely so, their ‘holes’ matching up with those of Jim’s childhood medical records and the corresponding undocumented history. Strangely absent was any documentation of the abuse Jim had suffered, first as a small child and continuing throughout his childhood during Winona’s long absences. Abuse that Jim had suffered at the hand of his uncle, and revealed to Dr. McCoy in pieces over the years.

 _Incomprehensible_.

Archer unsettles him. As does the mere thought of Winona Kirk. The woman is an officer in Starfleet, nonetheless, and Archer a powerful man. Yet the admiral’s scope is limited, which prevents him from locating the heinous limb of Section 31 and cutting it off permanently.

He dares not reveal his anxiousness to anyone, especially Leonard.

Leonard is close to breaking in a way that Spock has not seen since Jim’s death in the warp core. Consumed with reversing the age regression and too stubborn to cease his efforts, the smallest interruption sets him off. Like a spark to an accelerant, or an explosive on the brink of detonating.

The tension is thick, consuming them both. He, too, is torn. He contemplates his choice between spending time with Jimmy or setting a tray of food on the doctor’s desk.

In the end he chooses to aid in Leonard’s survival. He provides the doctor with sustenance.

It is not the choice he wants to make. He is aware of the challenges Jimmy faces despite the attention he receives from his caretakers. Loneliness. Sadness. He is _painfully_ aware. Yet it does not change the fact that Leonard can no longer function if left to his own devices and, at the same time, continue to give all that he has to their research efforts. Efforts that will bring their captain back and end the looming threat before their time runs out.

Simply put, the doctor is not Vulcan. He will eventually collapse from exhaustion, if someone does not convince him to change his course of action.

Spock has never before felt so uncomfortable in the lab as he does now. Leonard’s usual scowl has turned into a sorrowful grimace that Spock cannot bear to watch. The doctor’s eyes are given to glazing over as he pours himself into their research without respite to eat or sleep. He does not answer when they call him by name, and barely glances at the notes Nurse Chapel sends him twice a day.

Leonard, for all appearances, has entered another world, one with a thick, impenetrable wall surrounding it.

He is concerned that if Leonard is even reminded that the end is near, he will crack, and the doctor that they know will become a shell of his former self.

He reveals none of this to the admiral. Unlike before, when he waited with bated breath for Archer’s statements, he no longer is confident that the admiral has been completely truthful with them.

He does not know what it will take to get the whole truth. Yet he is willing, above everything else, to do all that is necessary to uncover it in order to keep Jim...Jimmy safe.

“Whitcliffe denies Section 31’s involvement in Hart’s murder,” Archer says.

Of course. Spock expects no less coming from Whitcliffe. “I do not believe you,” he challenges.

“I never said that I believed _him_ , Commander,” Archer’s response is clipped, the furrow between his eyes deepening.

Spock blinks, shaken that he has forsaken logic for an emotional response. “Your tone is not convincing,” he says sharply, covering his illogical slip.

It is the harshest criticism he has ever given an admiral, the _only_ criticism, and he stares at Archer expecting a rebuke.

Archer surprises him with a sigh. “I want to believe him,” he admits. “It would make things easier. Yet it makes no sense to me that Hart’s murder was an act unrelated to the situation at hand, Captain Kirk’s regressed state. I fear that Yorktown could be crawling with others willing to carry out these reprehensible orders, orders which have no business coming from Starfleet. But Whitcliffe denies their involvement, and we have combed, very carefully I might add, Mr. Spock, through hundreds of records and nothing indicates otherwise.” He pauses, looks down at his hands and adds quietly, “You’ll have to sit tight for now, Commander. That is all that I can tell you until we gain Whitcliffe’s full cooperation—or we become aware of further intel ourselves.”

“I will not leave Captain Kirk’s life to chance,” he says with a disdainful curl to his lip.

“And I don’t expect you to,” Archer acknowledges. “Be on alert. Trust no one.”

Spock barely refrains from sneering at him, his lack of control stemming from a decline in his time spent in meditation, an activity he has all but forgotten about. “No one?”

Archer’s smile is hesitant, but believable. “I hope you feel you can trust me, and the others I have looking into this mess, but I understand if you don’t. Were you here on Earth I could do more. _We_ could do more. I’ll send the copies of the legal documents Whitcliffe’s office has drawn up regarding custody of Jimmy and the names of the social worker and child psychiatrist who will be assigned to him to make the transition from Yorktown to his mother easier.”

Spock flinches. According to the last report, HQ’s messages will reach the ship on which Winona Kirk is stationed within two days. Longer than HQ had anticipated. Too soon for the Jim’s crew, nonetheless.

“I don’t like it, either,” Archer says in a low voice, leaning in towards the screen. “Nor do I like it that all of you are sitting ducks out there. However, as it stands, I don’t think you should risk getting on another ship but your own, quite frankly. And yours, unfortunately, is far from being ready.”

A thud jars Spock from his conversation with Archer.

“Is he listening this time?” Archer asks, eyes filling with concern.

One look at Leonard’s desk informs him that he has not been eavesdropping. Instead, the doctor is slumped over with his head on his desk and his eyes closed, breathing heavily.

He has fallen asleep.

It is his job to make sure he is undisturbed. “I must go,” he murmurs.

“Keep in touch, Commander.” Archer narrows his eyes. “And take care of yourself, first, or you’ll be no good to that young boy.”

The screen grows black. He walks over to Leonard, carefully removing the PADD from under his head and placing the samples that were now precariously close to the edge of his desk on another counter.

He continues their work on his own, relieved that an entire hour passes before Leonard lifts his head and glares at him.

“Dammit, Spock,” he grouses. “Wake me up the next time I fall asleep.”

He stands and stares down his nose at the doctor. “I will not.”

Leonard scowls and jerks his head, indicating the samples that he’d previously removed to safety. “Hand me those again. I had an idea.” He rubs his eyes. “I think.”

Spock clasps his hands behind his back. “No.”

Leonard looks at him owlishly. “Fine, I’ll do it myself.”

Spock steps aside as the doctor stumbles to the adjoining consoles, leaning on them for support as he walks over to the far counter.

“You know you coulda made it a lot easier for me if you’d just handed them over,” Leonard grumbles, reaching for them. He suddenly stops, recognizing that his hand is shaking at the same time that Spock does. “Dammit,” he whispers. He rubs his eyes and stares down at the offending appendage before withdrawing his arm and slowly clenching his hand into a fist. “Jesus, Spock, we have days. _Hours_.”

“You cannot continue to work like this,” Spock advises softly.

Leonard’s eyes grow surprisingly sharp. “And let Jim continue life as a extremely vulnerable child?”

“That, too, is unacceptable.”

Leonard blinks at him. “We’re at a stalemate.”

He wishes it were not true. “Jim would not wish for you to damage your own health.”

Leonard sighs wearily and shakes his head. “Don’t even go there, Spock. I need one more day then I’ll take a break.”

“You said that at 2200 hours, two days ago, Dr. McCoy.”

“So, I lied.” Leonard grunts and snatches the samples with renewed energy, turning around and striding back to his desk. “Let’s get back to work.”

“Very well.” Spock walks by Leonard’s desk and grabs his comm when he is not looking, a task that is far too easy to accomplish.

Fifteen seconds later, a message to Nurse Chapel is sent directly from Dr. McCoy’s device.

 

oOo

 

Jaylah enters James T’s house with caution, eyeing the security personnel from the Enterprise that had survived Krall’s attack. They line the corridor and guard the door, a necessary precaution according Commodore Harris. But too much has happened, too much that will frighten a small child, for her to relax anywhere she goes.

Even here, in a house created for no ordinary child.

She wishes to steal him away for herself, taking him far from the things that threaten to harm him.

At least he has his friends, if they will only come back to visit him. She is angry for James T, who murmurs the names of them in his sleep, and cries for them when he is lonely. Names of friends who have forgotten that a boy lives here, a boy who believes he had been abandoned.

She knows what it is like to be a child and all alone, and that is why she decided to come here long before her shift begins.

She looks about the room and sees them sitting by the window. Not only Sulu, but Nyota, too, who often refuses to leave the little boy even when her shift is done.

Sulu holds James T in his arms, pointing at a spot in the distance as they look outside through the window. “That is where Demora loves to play,” he explains. “The park.”

The boy tucks his head into the curve of Sulu’s neck, hiding his face completely.

Nyota and Sulu exchange a look over him.

“With slides and sandboxes, and a swing that lifts you practically to the moon,” Sulu murmurs, stroking James T’s back. “Ben and I will take you and Demora there as soon as Nurse Chapel allows it.”

James T still says nothing.

Sulu and Nyota exchange another look. “We need to do something,” he whispers.

Nyota’s eyes fill with determination. McCoy, she mouths to Sulu.

“Good luck with that,” Sulu mutters. “They aren’t letting anyone even near the laboratory. Chekov and I already tried. What about…” Spock, he mouths. “Throw a little logic at him, he’s bound to come.”

Nyota shakes her head. “Already tried that. He is taking it upon himself to make sure Leonard is functioning and eats enough. He said it was the most logical choice since all of us were here.”

Jaylah cannot stand back any longer. She approaches them, joined by Christine who enters from another door in the room.

“This is not...right,” Jaylah insists as they walk side by side.

“I know,” Christine says, nodding, stopping when they reach Sulu and Nyota. “We all feel the same way. The good news is that I have just received a message from Commander Spock that will change things for the better around here.”

Nyota visibly relaxed. “Something must have happened to change his mind.”

“Sehlat?” James T whispers.

Nyota breaks into a tender smile meant for the young boy. “You enjoyed Mr. Spock’s stories about his sehlat, didn't you?”

James T looks at the ground, avoiding her eyes.

“I’ve just learned that Mr. Spock will see you soon, Jimmy,” Christine says.

James T shakes his head.

“When Mr. Spock makes a promise, he keeps it,” Nyota says gently.

“You’ve been so brave, Jimmy,” Christine murmurs, stroking his head. “You need one more set of shots but we’re going to delay it until later today.”

James T blinks at her, a glimmer of fear in his eyes.

Christine smiles. “This will be the last set of vaccinations,” she says. “You’ve been so good, waiting to feel better, Jimmy. I don’t think I even heard a peep of complaint from you the entire time. Just for that, you get something special,” she holds out a stick, with something red like a ball on it. “Just don’t tell Dr. McCoy.”

James T squeezes his eyes shut and shakes his head.

“Oh, no,” Christine murmurs. “I forgot...I forgot that the doctor’s name upsets him.”

Nyota gently squeezes her arm. “Not your fault,” she says, then turns to James T. “Jimmy,” she says, brushing his hair from his face. “You earned that candy for being so brave for us.”

Jaylah looks at it, confused. “What is...candy?”

“It is something sweet to eat,” Nyota explains. “Like the cake you ate at the captain’s party.”

Jaylah brightens. She remembers. She’d had two slices of cake that night. “I would like that. I will have to find my own candy.”

Glancing sideways at Jaylah, James T takes the stick with the red ball from Christine—and stretches his hand out towards her.

“Oh,” Christine says, eyes widening. “He is offering his candy to you, Jaylah.”

“James T, I cannot take your candy.”

He nods, arm out.

“James T, no.”

The boy frowns, practically shoving it towards her.

Sulu chuckles. “You better take it. I don’t think he’ll take no for an answer.”

Jaylah can see for herself that the boy James T is the same as the adult James T. She swallows the lump in her throat and takes the stick with the red ball from him. “You gave away your prize for being brave.”

Jaylah is certain she has never been given such a wonderful gift before.

James T scrunches up his face with what looks to be a great effort. “Don't wanna be bwave, Jaywah.”

“Being brave sometimes hurts for a little bit, James T. But not much.”

“My daddy was bwave,” he whispers. “And he died.”

Jaylah looks at the others the same time they look at her.

Christine clasps her hand over her mouth. “Oh, the poor baby.”

“This has to end,” Sulu hisses.

“We need to get Leonard now,” Nyota whispers.

Christine firms her jaw. “I’m already on it. That was the message. Or messages.” She lifts her chin. “I’ll be back. And I won’t be alone when I do.”

She strides from the room, her eyes as fierce as a warrior’s.

Jaylah knows now never to cross her.

Sulu gives a low whistle. “Don’t think I want to be them right now.”

Suddenly remembering the little boy, Jaylah turns back to James T and nods solemnly at him. “Your father was brave, James T. So was mine and he died.”

His eyes widen.

She opens her arms to him. “I will tell you about Captain Numeer’s ship and my friend’s creatures that look like the same creatures in your house, James T.”

He goes to her without making a fuss.

 

oOo

 

“You should take a good look at yourself, Leonard.”

Leonard rubs the grittiness from his eyes and glances up to find Christine coming through the doorway of the laboratory. “I’d rather not.”

His eyes still feel dry and hot from the lack of sleep, and he rubs them again, not completely certain she isn’t an apparition. He hasn’t seen anyone but Spock and the lab assistants for days, a decision made of his own volition. In fact, he can’t remember the last time he’d stepped outside of this room. It does have, at his request, a hover cot shoved into the corner.

“You better,” she says as she stands beside him. “Or you’ll frighten a certain little blue-eyed boy with those dark circles under your eyes.”

He looks down at his PADD, the results from the last tests he’d run with Spock blurring before him. He hopes she doesn’t ask when he’d last slept. He isn’t sure if he’s taken anything above a catnap in days. “At this rate, I’ll never see him,” he mutters.

She sighs heavily. “But it’s already been days since your last visit. An eternity to a little boy.”

It’s hard to ignore the implications of those words. In that time, all he’s accomplished is hour after hour after hour away from the one person who matters the most to him.

“Days of nothing.” He pushes away the device carelessly.

“On the contrary, Leonard,” Spock says from his console. “We have discovered what does not—”

“Yeah, yeah, what _doesn’t_ work to change our captain back from a small child to his normal self,” Leonard interrupts, his drawl thick with sarcasm. “Like that will help us.”

It’s rude and he should bite his lip to keep himself from saying something even worse to counter it.

But he doesn’t.

“All we know is that his blood shows no abnormalities whatsoever, and without manipulating Jim’s emotions and chancing that he won’t regress, which we can’t do without great risk, we won’t make any progress in finding an antidote. If there even is a cure.” He laughs dryly. “Our lab work could’ve been done by a first-year cadet.”

The words leave a bitter taste in his mouth, but knowing he’s unfairly treating his friend sours his stomach, as well.

Spock busies himself with work, quickly casting his eyes downward.

Leonard looks away guiltily.

Christine shakes her head at him.

“What?” he asks.

Her expression grows tight as the silence swells and crushes him with well-deserved judgment. Of the two of them, Spock has put in the most hours in the lab. Besides, the tests they were running were not, in fact, tests that first-year cadets could handle but tests that required someone with Spock’s impeccable record of experience and intelligence.

And he certainly isn’t hurting any less than Leonard is.

He’ll never downplay the friendship Spock and Jim had. Jim needs Spock and, likewise, it has become clearer to him than ever that Spock needs Jim. Besides, it isn’t like Leonard and Jim were more than friends, anyway. They’re on level playing fields, so to speak.

Leonard racks his brain for a decent apology. He hadn’t meant to hurt his feelings, but that’s exactly what he’d done in his haste and anger. They hardly speak to one another as it is while they’re in the lab, except to discuss the various tests they are running, over and over, like a broken record.

The truth is, the tests really are a broken record. Nothing resulting from them but lost hope and endless disappointment.

While he stares, tongue-tied, at no spot in particular in front of him, Christine clears her throat. He looks up. He’s not surprised to see her narrowing her eyes at him, like a bird of prey seeking its victim.

Her body language is easy to read, proof that they’ve worked together a long time. Long enough for her to scold him like he’s a child. But she’s right. He is an idiot, and not just when it comes to Jim.

When it comes to Spock, too. Other than Jim, and perhaps Christine, Leonard can honestly say Spock is his closest confidante.

He’s completely lost himself in his work, forgetting, too, that Spock is emotionally tied to this, as well, and forgetting about Jimmy’s needs as a child. One thing is for sure. He doesn’t need to check on the boy while looking like a zombie. Neither does he have to look in a mirror at himself. He’s had plenty of experience over the years with a series of sleepless nights coupled with hard work, sometimes with alcohol, to know what would stare back at him from a mirror. A disheveled insomniac.

There’s no doubt he looks like hell. Even if he had the time to see Jimmy, he couldn’t go looking like this.

A heavy sigh rumbles from his chest. “Spock, I’m sorry. That was uncalled for.”

“An apology is unnecessary, as we are both under pressure,” Spock says quietly, their eyes meeting as he looks up from his work.

Pressure to fix this before HQ can finally reach Winona.

“No,” he protests. “No, it is. While it’s inevitable that we'll lose ourselves in this, it’s not an excuse to say inappropriate things just because we’re upset.”

Spock quirks a brow.

He winces. “What I mean is, it’s not an excuse for me to say inappropriate things.”

“You misunderstand,” Spock says, smoothly getting to his feet. “I do not agree that we will—or should—lose ourselves in this operation.” He takes several steps towards McCoy and clasps his hands behind his back, his eyes probing and, if he’s reading him right, even pleading. “We must not lose sight of our purpose. More is at stake here than blood samples.”

Immediately, the image of a darling little boy sweeps through his mind, flooding every part of him.

He _missed_ him. “You mean...Jimmy,” he says quietly.

Spock’s usual inscrutable expression slips over his face, belying the previous emotion he’d shown. “I am certain your absence has affected him.”

“It has,” Christine says. “That’s what I came to tell you both.”

Something in him snaps. He lurches out of his chair, swaying momentarily from the accompanying dizziness, before rounding on her. There is only one thought in his mind. “Good God, Chris! Has he regressed again? Has he had another episode? What was I thinking, leaving him all alone—”

She places her hand on his arm, stopping him mid-sentence. “Calm down.”

“Calm down?” He can’t catch his breath, and swallows with difficulty. “How can I calm down when Jim is only three years old! Three! And I left him!”

“Because you have to, for his sake.” She looks at him steadily. “You know he is not alone. He has me. He also has Sulu, Nyota and Jaylah. He hasn’t regressed again. All I wanted to say was he isn’t responding to any of us like he does to you. He’s...well...for the lack of a better word...depressed.”

He doesn’t want to imagine Jim depressed, let alone a depressed three-year-old Jim. His shoulders droop with failure, but the instincts he’s honed over the years about Jim surface like wildfire. “Is he eating? Is he sleeping?”

“He’s doing as good a job with that as you are,” Christine says.

His heart sinks, imagining Jimmy losing even more weight than his already thin body can handle. “So, not good,” he says roughly.

“Last night, he hid under his bed again, which you’d know if you’d read my messages,” she accused.

He hadn’t read them because of the work he’d had to do in the lab—or maybe her reports had started to run together.

Her next words finish driving the stake into his heart. “He fell asleep holding his bunny with your name on his lips, as he always does.”

“Dammit, Jim,” he whispers, bracing his arms against his desk.

He cranes his neck to look at Spock, not trusting himself to ask what he wants most for fear he’ll say no.

“Commodore Harris previously informed us that the starbase’s resources are at our disposal.” Spock comes to Leonard's desk and picks up his PADD. “Unfortunately, that does not include rest. Only you can avail yourself of that.”

“I can take a hint.”

“You’ll do more than take a hint,” Christine says sternly.

“But I haveta...haveta see Jim, first.” He stumbles from his desk towards the doors, waving a dismissive hand at Spock. “Let me know if ya find any leads, Spock.”

“Oh, no,” Christine says, taking him by the arm, her grip made of steel. “You look dead on your feet, but it's your heavy drawl that's more telling. I’m making sure you go directly to your quarters, first. Six hours of sleep, Dr. McCoy. Maybe more. You can’t see Jimmy looking like the walking dead. Spock will be with him while he waits for you.”

He groans. “Six hours? Chris—”

“You’d expect me to take care of Jim if your positions were reversed, wouldn’t you?”

She has him there. “Four hours.”

“Five, and that’s final.”

“Okay,” he reluctantly agrees.

He sleeps for eight.

 

oOo

 

Jimmy jumps up from his seat and hugs himself tightly when Mr. Spock walks into his house. He is excited to see him, but scared at the same time, and doesn’t quite know what to do with himself.

He hopes he doesn’t hide the truth from him, like Mommy does sometimes.

When Mommy goes to work, she usually leaves him with Uncle Frank, who doesn’t work except to deliver the strange boxes that come to their door. She says she always comes into his bedroom in the morning to give him a kiss while he’s still sleeping. He has never actually felt her kiss him so he isn’t sure she actually does. Wouldn’t he know she was there, since she’s his mommy? He always knows when Uncle Frank steps into his room, sometimes before he even calls his name from the door.

He thinks Mommy lies to him to try to make him not feel so sad. He feels sad about it, but he lies, too. When she comes home and asks him about his day, he always says he had a good day, so she doesn’t feel sad about being gone for so long or hearing Uncle Frank complain about watching over him. Or ask him why his body hurts all over.

Then he gets a kiss on his forehead, one that he actually knows is real. He would lie over and over just to get that kiss.

Mr. Spock stares at him without a word, and Jimmy is certain that he’s reading his mind when he says, “I will not lie to you, Young Jim.”

He wrinkles his nose. Young Jim? What does that mean? Does that mean there’s an Older Jim? Another... _him_?

“I will tell you a secret,” Mr. Spock says softly, crouching in front of him.

He smiles, a happy feeling spreading through his chest. “I can keep a secwet.”

Mr. Spock nods. “I am sure that you can, and that is why I must tell you why I have been away.”

He nods back, breathless. It sounds very important! “Is it about the bad men?”

Mr. Spock’s brows raise. “Yes,” he says but does not ask him how he knows about them.

He bites his bottom lip, thinking of the guards surrounding his house. “Oh.”

“You are young now, Jimmy, but you were once closer to my own age,” Mr. Spock continues.

“I was big?” he asks, awed.

“Yes, Jimmy, you were an adult.” Mr. Spock looks at him with dark eyes. “You were my friend. You were...Dr. McCoy’s friend.”

He’d been big, and now he is not? It makes sense now. That’s why the doctor has stayed away.

He starts to cry. “He doesn’t want m-me.”

Mr. Spock closes his eyes as if in pain, then opens them long seconds later. “That is not true. He loves you as much as he did when you were an adult. He loves you so much that he is trying to find a way to fix what the bad men did to you. He worked too hard but he is stopping now to rest. He will no longer be in the lab but with you at all times, Young Jim, if you will give him another chance.”

His chest heaves in distress and he can’t stop it. “P-pwomise?”

“I promise, Young Jim.” Mr. Spock takes his hand. “Do _you_ promise?”

Jimmy stares up at him and nods, his tears stopping.

“Very well,” Spock says quietly. “Now we must eat.”

He eats as much as he can, even a few bites of vegetables, thinking about the secret the whole time.

He’d been big!

This secret is the most important one he’s ever kept.

He’ll _never_ tell a soul—except for _Bones_.

 

oOo

 

Leonard is grateful no one is in Jimmy’s ‘house,’ except for Christine, Spock, and two security guards from the Enterprise. She’s already chewed him out. Hopefully, she's satisfied now. He isn’t looking for more of it.

No one will be able to pry him away from Jimmy now that he’s done working in the lab. Anything he does from now on—will be in here, where Jim is. No exceptions.

“He’s been napping for an hour now,” Christine whispers as he walks in. “His stomach is finally full for the first time since he woke up so young. I know that’s what helped him fall asleep.”

He clutches his tricorder and nods, focusing in on the small child tucked in a ball in the bed.

The boy’s little mouth is parted slightly as he sleeps like Jim does— _did_ —when he crashed on Leonard’s couch.

“You're probably right,” he says hoarsely.

Jesus, he looks like a _baby_. Especially holding that darned bunny.

His thin, small body is swallowed up by the bed, a stark contrast to the image swimming in his mind of a captain who loved to sprawl on the bed while he slept. His arms and legs bumping Leonard throughout the night when the stress of being captain became too much and he needed to sleep next to his best friend to satisfy his craving for a comforting physical touch.

His friend is gone, and in his place is this child who has no idea of the trouble and danger surrounding him.

Jimmy’s brow furrows, as if he is dreaming, and a soft sigh escapes through his open lips.

“Just look at that,” Christine whispers. “I’ve had to stop myself from disturbing him. He’s so adorable.”

He spies the new bruises she’d commed him about on his way here. They snake down Jimmy’s arm like tattoos, reminders of that abusive bastard.

Jim regressing in age is difficult enough, but having to deal with future injuries is a living nightmare.

He’d noticed it the first day—and had tried hard not to dwell on it since. But it is no longer safe to delay the inevitable. He should take the time to write down what he remembers from what Jim had told him about his childhood. God knows the worse of it isn’t even in his medical records. His staff should be prepared; Spock, too.

He can’t let himself go beyond that. Not yet.

He sits on the edge of the bed and gently touches the darkest bruises. “Maybe we should find him some long sleeves. I don’t want him to see these when he wakes up.”

“I’ll find him a shirt,” Christine says. “Are you still planning to go to the park with the Sulus?”

“Yes.” He gently squeezes the boy’s hand without looking up at her. “Commodore Harris has assured us security will be there.”

“Good,” she whispers. She places her hand on his shoulder and squeezes it. “He needs time to play with another child. It’ll be good for all of you. I’ll get that shirt and be right back.”

“Thanks, Christine.” All he wants to do is stay here, with Jimmy, where he should’ve been in the first place. Damn the regression. Damn Section 31. Damn everything else but showing a little boy that he won’t leave him again, that he loves him with his whole heart.

Spock, who he’d forgotten was even there, stands at the end of the bed with his hands clasped behind his back. “I believe he already knows, Leonard. He asked for you as soon as he was given the last of his vaccinations.”

Leonard swallows. “Yeah?” He scans the boy for further injury, and finding none, breathes a sigh of relief.

But it’s only a matter of time. And if Jimmy isn’t in his care, but Winona’s, what will Jimmy have to endure?

For the first time in his life, he wishes he had the wherewithal—the goddamn ability—to do something Jim would do.

Something drastic.

Something entirely crazy.

Something _illegal_.

Like steal Jimmy from right under HQ’s noses.

“Oh, Jimmy,” he whispers.

“Doctor?” Spock inquires.

“Later,” he murmurs as Jimmy’s long lashes flutter. “Christine?” he calls softly. “Have that shirt yet?”

“I do.” She rushes over, and helps him guide the garment over Jimmy’s head and his arms through the holes.

Soon, those precious bright blue eyes stare back at him.

“Why, hello,” he says, smiling tentatively.

Jimmy blinks. “Are you weal? Not a dream?”

He nods. “I’m as real as you are.”

The boy brings his bunny up to his chin. “And my bunny?”

He fights a smile. “As real as your bunny, too.”

“I missed you,” Jimmy whispers.

“I…” He cards his fingers through the boy’s blonde hair. “I…” He falters, words like _I failed you_ and _I don’t deserve you_ and _I’m sorry_ and _I won’t leave you again_ and _I’ll always be there for you_ on the tip of his tongue.

But he doesn’t say them.

He realizes he doesn’t have to. He’s never had to say them with Jim. Never. Even when he sticks his foot in his mouth.

Jimmy innocently opens his arms, his eyes so full of trust that it seems to have wiped the slate clean between them.

He can’t wait to tell him where they’re going. He can just imagine Jimmy’s eyes lighting up at the sight of the park.

“Come here, kid,” he whispers hoarsely, and wraps his arms around him. It's a snug fit. Jimmy presses against his chest, and he returns the embrace, holding him as if he'll disappear before his eyes. “Let’s go have some fun.”

 

oOo

 

At the crack of the bat, Harris’s wife gasps beside him. She jumps to her feet as cheers from the crowd begin, and so does he.

The ball arches in the air and travels beyond the fence of one of Yorktown’s athletic fields. He grins. Make no mistake, Katie Harris, his fourteen-year-old daughter, has just hit her first homerun.

“She did it. She hit a homerun, Lukin,” Leesa cries. She cups her mouth and shouts, “Go, Katie!”

Pride wells in his chest, as well as relief that he’d chosen this game to attend, carving a few hours out of his day. The first he’s had with his own family in days. “It’s all that extra practice.”

Leesa’s eyes follow their daughter as she rounds the bases. “She has the natural talent for it, just like her father.”

“Don’t know about that.” He'd barely made the team as a junior.

At home base, his daughter beams at him. He gives her a thumbs-up sign.

“You're too modest, Lukin, as always. We have to celebrate later after we pick up the boys.” Leesa glances sideways at him. “You do have the rest of the day off, right?”

Harris’s smile falters. “Not exactly.”

The cheering dying down around them, Leesa sits back down on the bleachers without a word. Harris fights a sigh. He sits beside her. It's clear she's angry when she refuses to look at him.

He takes her hand. “It won’t always be like this.”

It’s just that he has one important little boy to worry about. Dare he say the most important person on the Yorktown? And with nothing coming from the lead Captain Nemeer’s crewman had given him, he’s back at square one. The Admiralty had cautioned him to tread carefully with the investigation, but it isn’t in his nature to sweep a murder under the rug like that. But Archer’s private message to him confirmed that he wasn’t sweeping it under the rug, either.

Not only that, but Whitcliffe had denied him access to any other contract that Captain Kirk had signed—if he _had_ signed more than one. Whitcliffe wouldn’t tell him that, either, refusing to confirm or deny his suspicions.

At least on this query he was getting some help. From the President of the Federation herself.

She’d acknowledged today that she’s no longer going to put on blinders, but will do her best to aid them—as long as Winona Kirk is not in the picture. She had made it clear that since Winona has proven herself as a respectable and capable officer in Starfleet, even if she no longer has a part in her adult’s son’s life, there may be little she can actually do to help their case if the boy is placed in her care.

Winona is the widow of a hero in the public’s eye and the mother of another, greater hero, James T. Kirk. Of course the president is concerned about revealing the complete truth about the Kirks and creating an utter scandal. A scandal the Federation wants to avoid at all costs.

But he won’t quit insisting that he be given access to more files—

“Lukin!” Leesa says, interrupting his thoughts. “Are you even listening?”

He grimaces. “Sorry.”

She crosses her arms. “Maybe you should go now, so you’re back to tuck the boys in at bedtime.”

“I’ll be back late either way,” he says frankly.

“Please, tonight…” she implores, her eyes hopeful.

“I’ll tr—” He stops speaking, drawn to the movement he sees from the corner of his eye.

“What?” Leesa asks, turning her head and following his gaze. “What is it?”

He checks his chronometer. They are right on time. “I’ll be right back.”

He stands to leave, but Leesa grasps his wrist, holding him in place. “What is it now?”

“The Enterprise crew,” he says carefully.

Her brow quirks. “Oh?”

“They have…” He stops before he says Jimmy’s name. Archer had not divulged any detail of this to his wife the other day, only the nature of his rank. “...been too busy to return my comms as of late. I’ll try to talk to them now. I planned on speaking to them tonight, which is why I'll be late getting home.”

She smiles tightly. “Fine.”

“Sweetheart…”

“Go,” she says, turning back to the game. “I’ll watch our daughter’s game, like I usually do.”

He sighs, wondering with every step he takes away from her if anything between them has really changed at all.

He reaches Commander Spock and Dr. McCoy before they turn onto the walkway leading up to the park. They walk slowly, with Jimmy sandwiched between them, walking also, so it isn’t difficult to catch up to them.

“Commodore,” Spock acknowledges.

“Mr. Spock, Dr. McCoy.”

“Thank you for arranging this outing up for him,” McCoy says. “He’s been chattering about it nonstop since we told him.”

“It was my pleasure.” He smiles down at Jimmy, who is looking up in awe at the twist of high buildings and hoverrails above him. “Looks like it might be hard to get this little guy to pay attention to anything else, though.”

McCoy ruffles Jimmy’s hair. “We have all the time in the world, isn’t that right, Jimmy?”

The boy nods, his gaze still not breaking away from his new surroundings.

McCoy chuckles. “He’s been tripping on his feet the whole time we’ve been walking.”

Spock suddenly scoops the child captain into his arms, naturally, like he's done so every day. “Please excuse us. We will be...swinging,” he says swiftly and walks towards the park.

Harris stares after him. “‘We will be swinging?’ Is that Vulcan vernacular for ‘hurry up?” he asks after a moment.

McCoy snorts. “Subtle, isn't he?”

“I'm surprised he didn't remain in the lab.”

McCoy grows quiet. “He couldn't go back to the lab when he saw how much happier Jimmy was with both of us around.”

“Will you continue working at all?” he asks, treading carefully on what could be a sore subject for the doctor.

“I won't be, but Spock will,” McCoy says, scowling. “I'll only do whatever I can manage to do in Jimmy’s room without too much disruption to his routine. I'll begin a more extensive test on his brain activity tomorrow, but that's all for now. I don't want anything in that room reminding him that we're worried about him.”

“Has he had another emotional outburst?”

“No,” McCoy says, looking relieved. “We’re doing all that we can to prevent one. We’re certain that Spock’s touch telepathy will stop an incident, like the one he had before, before it causes Jimmy to regress again.”

“Another reason why he came along?”

McCoy nods. “Would have asked him to come along, anyway. Let me tell you, a pouting Vulcan is no picnic.”

Harris smiles. “I hope you have a nice time. I should return to my daughter's game. If there is anything else you need, don't hesitate to ask.”

“Thank you, Commodore.”

They part ways, and Harris walks back to the game, relieved their conversation had been short and he can please his wife with the surprise of his swift return. He wishes he'd thought to bring his sons to the park, to play with Jimmy, before chaining himself to his desk again.

He climbs the bleachers, frowning when he doesn't see his wife. He looks around, starting with left-field first since his daughter’s team were the visitors. Her strawberry blonde hair doesn't pop out at him, so he turns his head to look at the opposite side of the field.

“You're back,” Leesa says, startling him from behind.

She's holding —and eating—a hot dog.

He looks at her, confused. “Since when do you eat those?”

She's turned up her nose at them ever since he's known her.

“Trying a new experience never hurt anyone,” she says brightly, slipping past him to her seat. “Besides, I worked up an appetite at the gym.”

She sits, oblivious to the bit of ketchup on the corner of her mouth.

He patiently takes her napkin and wipes the ketchup away, smiling to himself when she blushes. Rarely does he ever catch her off guard.

“Thank you,” she murmurs.

“No problem.” The scent of a freshly grilled hot dog overwhelms him. “That smells good. Maybe I should buy one.”

She shrugs. “It's only the fourth inning. You have time. Someone told me the hot dogs over there were better than the ones you buy at the stand. It's not far from left field.”

He looks over her shoulder and finds the vending cart almost immediately.

Indeed, the hot dog cart is not far from the baseball field—and even closer to where he'd just been talking with McCoy, its view obstructed by a tree.

 

oOo

 

Jimmy and Demora swing side-by-side, looking like perfect companions against the backdrop of a beautiful park. Leonard can’t put his finger on why, but watching Jimmy play like this, with someone much closer to his young age, sends a warm feeling through his gut.

“I think this is going pretty well,” Leonard says, pushing Jimmy again.

They’ve been here for nearly an hour. No one has fought. No one’s fallen off a swing or stubbed a toe. It is a smooth operation. He can say, with confidence, that he likes this idea of “play dates” and wants to have another with the Sulus as soon as they can.

Ben nods. “You’re a natural at this.”

“Pushing a swing?” Leonard says jokingly. “Takes a lotta skill, you know.”

“Being a father,” Ben says softly.

He misses the next push, his heart also skipping a beat.

A father.

That is one thing he'd never imagined he’d be to Jim in his entire life. Especially since he’s wanted something _more_ with Jim for so long.

A life with Jim, filled with romantic love has now become a distant, and dying, hope.

“That is what you are to him now,” Ben continues. “You can see it in the way he looks at you.”

He grows quiet at Ben’s words, strangely soothed by his observation. Watching Jim so happy and young and free as a small boy, is doing something for his heart that nothing has ever done for it before. He wants Jim back, as an adult, but what if it never happens? What if Winona doesn’t want Jimmy even if given the chance and then _he_ could take him?

What if he could give Jim the happy childhood he never had? What if that is the reason all of this even happened?

If he has to choose, between his own happiness and Jim’s, he’d choose Jim’s in a heartbeat.

“And what about Mr. Spock?” he asks roughly. Of the two of them, he thinks the commander would be the best choice to fill that role. Someone who is logical. Strong. Dependable.

Not him. Not a man who acts mostly with his heart, especially when it comes to Jim.

Spock watches all four of them not ten yards away, probably hearing everything they said. Nothing got past the first officer. Especially now.

He has a sneaking suspicion that Spock isn’t telling him everything about the case, but is holding something close to his chest. Most likely to help him as he transitions into the role as Jimmy’s caretaker.

“Protector,” Hikaru says, coming up to his husband. He quirks a brow. “Of both of you.”

He wants to deny that, but it’s partially true. Spock made sure he actually survived in the lab. He’s standing aside with a stony expression, just daring anyone to cross them. No wonder the other children scattered to the other side of the park.

“I’m thirsty, Daddy!” Demora calls out, her legs pumping up and down.

“Me, too,” Jimmy chimes in a small voice.

“Okay,” Ben says, and helps her to slow down the swing. “We have water over by the bench for both of you.”

Leonard grabs Jimmy at the waist and pulls him off the swing, his arms enveloping him. Jimmy squirms as he, too, wraps his small arms around him, but his arms fall short and clings, instead, to the fabric stretching across his broad shoulders.

“I like her,” Jimmy whispers in his ear.

Leonard smiles and slows his stride. “I think she likes you, too.”

“She tweats me like I’m big!”

“Well, you are,” Leonard says. “Did you see how high you were getting?”

“Uh-huh,” Jimmy says, pulling away from him a little to reveal a brilliant smile. “I was up to the sky! Can we do it again?” he adds enthusiastically.

“Sure, kiddo.” Leonard sets him down beside the bench.

Jimmy scrambles onto the bench to where his bunny is already sitting, right beside Demora.

“Here you go, Jimmy,” Hikaru gives him a bottle of water.

“Thank you,” Jimmy breathes. With a look of determination on his face, he twists the cap off.

“I like your Bunny,” Demora says.

Jimmy gulps down the water, choking when he tries to speak at the same time.

Water dribbles down the boy’s chin and onto his shirt.

“Easy, now,” Leonard says softly. He kneels on the grass by the bench and takes hold of the bottle, guiding it away from him.

Jimmy’s eyes widen, his body pressing against the back of the bench.

A lump grows in his throat the size of Yorktown. Jesus, the kid thinks he’s going to be beaten for this.

“You’re not in trouble,” he manages, squeezing Jimmy’s knee. “I just don’t want you to choke on your first day out.”

Jimmy nods, but his expression is wary.

Leonard smiles encouragingly at him, despite the irrational fear that Jimmy believes he will strike him for this small mistake. He brings the bottle up to Jimmy’s mouth. “Drink slowly,” he cautions.

With a tentative smile, Jimmy obeys, and when he’s done, remembers to replace the cap.

He takes the water bottle from him, and stands back when it looks like the two children want to talk.

Jimmy hugs his bunny, his legs swinging beneath him.

“Can I touch him?” Demora asks sweetly. She folds her hands and looks down at the toy on Jimmy’s lap.

“Uh-huh,” Jimmy says.

He places it between them, fixing the bunny’s ears so that they stick up. It’s a strange sight for a bunny whose long, floppy ears look like they have no life in them.

Jimmy and Demora look at each other and break out into giggles.

“He looks silly,” Demora says with another giggle. She strokes the bunny’s head tenderly, a smile rising on her face. “He’s so soft. Like my kitty.”

Jimmy perks up. “You have a kitty?”

“I just got her. Her name is Buttercup!” Demora cocks her head, looking at the bunny thoughtfully. “Does your bunny have a name?”

Leonard stills. Maybe she can get it out of him. Even Christine is curious to know Jimmy’s bunny’s name.

Jimmy looks down at his hands. “It’s a secwet.”

“Oh!” Demora’s eyes widen. “That’s okay. I understand.”

Jimmy peers at her through his lashes. “You do?”

“Uh-huh,” she says, her head bobbing up and down. “I have secrets, too.”

“Sorry, but we have to cut this a little shorter than we thought,” Ben says suddenly. He looks up from his comm. “We have to leave in a few minutes. Supper time with grandma.”

Jimmy’s face falls instantly.

Demora’s eyes fill with disappointment. “Do we have to, Daddy?”

“Demora,” Hikaru warns quietly.

She sighs. “Okay, Daddy.” She glances sideways at Jimmy. “Sorry, Jimmy.”

He nods, looking even more crestfallen.

“You do have about ten more minutes, however,” Hikaru adds. “Maybe Jimmy wants to look at the murals on the wall?’

Jimmy hesitates, then nods.

“Oh, good idea, Daddy!” She grabs Jimmy by the hand, tugging his thin body right off of the bench. “Let’s go!”

“I’m going to go pway again, Dr. Coy,” Jimmy says excitedly as Demora pulls him along.

“I’ll be right behind ya, Buddy,” Leonard assures him.

Demora skips ahead, Jimmy running to keep up with her. “I’ll take care of him, Dr. McCoy,” she calls over her shoulder. “Just leave it to me.”

 

oOo

 

Jimmy hates to leave the park and his new friend, but his stomach has started to growl just like Demora’s.

“Ready to go eat, buddy?” Dr. Coy asks, taking him by the hand.

“Uh-huh,” he replies, but he isn’t ready at all. He really liked the sandbox but didn't get much time to play in it.

“Bye, Jimmy!” Demora says, waving.

“Bye!” Jimmy echoes.

He stares after her, wishing he could go see her kitty. Mr. Sulu told him they could visit tomorrow after Demora has school. A whole day.

That's _forever_.

He sighs.

Dr. Coy hums. “I see that someone's a little tired. No wonder. You never stopped once you stepped foot in the park. Up you go,” he says, and lifts him into his arms.

Jimmy rests his head on the doctor’s shoulder. He likes being here, where he can see everything.

“I see Spock up ahead by the building,” Dr. Coy says. “I think he asked Miss Nyota if she'd like to join us.”

“I like her,” Jimmy confessed, feeling safe and warm in Dr. Coy’s arms.

“Miss Nyota?”

“Demowa,” he whispers, feeling sleepy. “She’s pwetty.”

Dr. Coy’s chest rumbles with soft laughter. “She was very nice to you, buddy. I think you made a friend for life.”

Jimmy closes his eyes, dreaming of the park and Buttercup. The next thing he knows, they’re in a strange building with Mr. Spock.

Dr. Coy groans as he sets him down. “What do you weigh, kid?’

He giggles. “I’m not that bi—”

He suddenly stops, and his heart drops to the floor.

His arms are empty.

 _Empty_.

His stomach flips. The park. They have to go back to the park. Or the murals. Or...or anywhere they’d walked. But how would he get there?

Eyes wide, he spins around in a panic.

Dr. Coy gently grabs his shoulders, stopping him. “Jimmy? Something wrong?”

He can’t think of anything but the door. “Wh-where’s the door?”

“The door?” Dr. Coy asks confusedly. “Jimmy, why—”

He spies a crowd, people coming and going.

He darts off. He runs as fast as he can, maybe faster than Demora.

People are in his way. He stops, tries to push through them, but he can’t. Soon, he finds himself smashed between two Andorians who don’t see him.

He’s jostled about, like a wave in a storm. He can't breathe. He can’t see. He's scared. He doesn’t like being lost. He never has. He squeezes his eyes shut, wishing himself to be somewhere far, far away with his mommy.

“Move!” Dr. Coy booms.

Jimmy looks up just as Dr. Coy shoves the aliens aside.

Dr. Coy looks angry. “Watch where you’re going,” he yells. “Didn’t you see him there?”

The Andorians look angry, too, but Mr. Spock stands in their way.

Jimmy shivers, feeling small. Would they punish him for running off?

“Young Jim,” Mr. Spock says, as the people back away from them. “Why did you run away?”

He shakes his head. They’ll yell at him for sure if he tells them. He’d been careless. Stupid. That’s why he always has bruises.

“Jimmy,” Dr. Coy implores softly, crouching down to look at him. “We need you to tell us.”

“We do not wish for you to be upset,” Mr. Spock says.

Tears well up in his eyes.

Hot, ugly tears that he can’t stop.

Dr. Coy presses a kiss on his forehead. “Tell me, Buddy. It’ll be okay. I promise.”

He collapses right into the doctor’s arms. “N-no it w-won’t,” he sobs into his shoulder, crying with all his might.

It is too late.

“I fear he will regress again if this continues,” Mr. Spock murmurs.

“Jimmy,” Dr. Coy soothes. “We’ll work it out. Whatever it is.”

But the weight of what he’s done is too much. He wants to disappear in the doctor’s arms.

Forever.

His shoulders shake as he cries with all his might, soaking the doctor’s shirt with his tears.

“Jimmy, buddy, I gotcha.”

But he feels lost, scared, and completely alone. Something is missing.

The most important thing he has in the world.

Something he has all to himself.

“Young Jim, you must tell us.”

And he does, while he clings to the doctor.

He wails it for the universe, not caring who hears him.

“I LOST BONES!”

And it’s all.

His.

Fault.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading! Please, review? ;)


	10. Love Was Kind for a Time

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Let's just pretend I wasn't gone for so long? Yikes. So sorry about that. Getting into the swing of things again. Many thanks to Diamondblue4 and Junker5 for looking over this chapter and giving sound writing advice as well as a good dose of encouragement. :) 
> 
> We're picking up where we last left off! Hope you enjoy the read!

oOo

 

Chapter Ten

 

Love Was Kind for a Time

 

oOo

 

As soon as Jimmy cries out his bunny’s name, a name that shows he shares a link to his former life as Captain James T. Kirk, a man who is no more, Spock feels an unprecedented, painful snapping sensation in his mind.

It is unlike anything he has ever felt before, even after the destruction of his home planet. It does not hurt him like the countless broken bonds had done. Not even his mother’s death compares. No, for it hurts much more, like a million bonds severed using a blunt and dull instrument. The pain travels through every inch of his skull, weaving in and out of his memories of Jim, and he must reach deep within himself to find the power to overcome it.

His next reaction is instinctual and not bound by logic, or by duty. It is primal, fueled by his friendship with James T. Kirk, and he is helpless to stop it. He yearns to soothe the child’s fears above soothing his own pain and knows that it will always be this way. He knows that each time he does this, the sensation will be more pronounced and he will be helpless to stop whatever damage is inflicted. He knows he will regress, himself, not in age but in temperament and control.

He must warn them—Leonard, Nyota, Commodore Harris, even his father—of his downward spiral into a more primitive Vulcan that is to come.

He calculates that he has an eighteen point three percent chance of returning to his former self if this continues indefinitely, but that does not matter. It is immaterial, it is important only that he help Jimmy by using his telepathy.

He scoops up the child in his arms, ignoring his immediate squirming and continuing wailing. The world around him fades into nothing. His sole purpose is this child and this child alone. Even McCoy’s well-being pales in comparison, as well as Nyota’s happiness.

Nothing else matters except for Jimmy’s safety.

Until he is fixed, nothing else will.

“Bones, Bones, Bones!” Jimmy sobs, his small body straining against Spock’s protective embrace.

Spock’s hand is much larger than the face that is streaked with tears, the face that is slowly regressing once more, but he spreads his fingers across the child’s face, nonetheless. He is gentle yet sure. He is determined yet sensitive to the child's fears.

“Hush,” he whispers, and forces the child’s body to shudder into a calm, almost paralytic state with a single thought.

He does not register McCoy’s soft curse beside him, or the attention that Jimmy’s outburst has garnered.

He melds with the boy, defying his Vulcan upbringing and ignoring the fact that he has forced a meld upon a defenseless human child.

No, he is saving him.

 

oOo

 

 

Demora twirls in the grass and sings about everything she can think of. Happy things, like her favorite teacher tells her to do whenever she’s sad.

She’d been sad when Jimmy had left, but singing about stars and her daddies and Jimmy’s bunny makes her feel better. As she sings about these things, she feels like the luckiest person on the entire starbase. And she really is. She has a new friend. She loves the feel of her bare feet in the squishy grass, and she likes going on walks with her daddies to the park. And one of her daddies fly with the stars.

She’s lucky.

If only tomorrow after school could come sooner.

She doesn’t know if she can wait that long before seeing Jimmy again. He’d looked sad, especially when she’d asked about his mommy. She hadn’t meant to hurt him—she didn’t know that his mommy hadn’t come to see him yet. Maybe she will tell him her trick, the singing and the twirling, so he can be happy, just like her.

“Okay, sweetheart, we’ve waited long enough,” Daddy Ben calls to her.

She doesn’t want to go, and spins with her arms out. Maybe if she’s lucky, Jimmy will come back before she leaves.

“Demora,” Daddy Hikaru says firmly, and she knows he’s upset with her.

She twirls around one more time, squeezing her eyes shut.

“Please come here,” he continues. “I see you lost your shoes when we weren’t looking?”

She obediently stops, then nods without looking at them.

Daddy Hikaru sighs and comes to crouch before her, lifting her chin. She swallows and meets his eyes. “Am I in trouble?”

“You didn’t listen to me, Demora.”

She frowns. No, she hadn’t listened. Maybe she wasn’t lucky after all. “I’m sorry I wasn’t lucky.”

“What?”

“If I’d been lucky, I would be good.” She pauses and scrunches up her nose. “Right?”

Her daddy smiles. “No, sweetheart. You’re good...because you have a choice to make. The right choice.”

“If I make the right choice, then I’ll be lucky?”

“No,” he says, lifting her up in his arms. “Well, maybe.”

Her other daddy clears his throat. “There are no promises, but sometimes it works out that way.”

She thinks of how she tries to listen at school, to do what she’s told, but then their home had almost been destroyed. “And sometimes it doesn’t?” she asks.

“It’s the way we react that counts.”

She glances up, looking beyond her father’s shoulder.

“Daddy?”

“Yes, sweetheart.”

“If someone is running, running really, really fast, is that acting bad?”

“Is that acting badly,” her father corrects her.

“Is it?” she questions impatiently.

“Well, if they’re scared, they may be running for safety. If they seem to be in a big hurry, they may be trying to help someone.”

She bites her bottom lip. “So, no?”

“No,” he agrees, then hesitates. “Mostly.”

She looks again, and her hair stands on end.

“Daddy?” she whispers, clutching her father as he carries her across the park to the sidewalk.

“Yes, Demora?”

“I think Dr. McCoy is trying to find someone to help.”

She hopes it’s not Jimmy. What if Jimmy got lost? Like she had, when she’d tried to pick flowers without her daddies’ help?

Tears fill her eyes, like burning drops of rain. Oh, she just knows Jimmy is in trouble. But there’s nothing she can do. She’s little, like he is.

She fights a sob, sniffling. It isn’t fair that she can’t help.

Her father suddenly stops walking. “Why’s that sweetheart?” he questions.

“‘Cuz he is running really, really fast.”

 

oOo

 

McCoy can’t dwell on the fact that Spock looked like a stranger the instant he started to meld with Jimmy. He has to find the lost bunny as soon as he can. He has a gut feeling that the longer Spock takes to calm Jimmy and stop the regression, the more difficult it will be for both of them once the meld ends.

He takes off, forcing anyone in his way aside, with the momentum of his body. He sprints to the nearest door, lifting his comm when the thought came to him that Spock and Jimmy shouldn't be left alone.

“McCoy to Uhura!”

He exits the building, spinning around on his heel, trying to catch his bearings. He sees more buildings than trees and grits his teeth in frustration. “Dammit.”

“Leonard—”

“We need you,” he rushes out. “Spock needs you.”

“I’ll be right there.”

“Wait,” he says, sprinting across the lawn to a small hill. “How do you know where he’ll be? He’s melding with Jimmy, but he isn’t acting like himself. He’s -”

“I know where he is,” she interjects. “He’s wearing the necklace. I thought it would be a good idea, given the circumstances.”

“Nyota, I’d crack a joke again if Jim wasn’t nearing the age of two.”

“Leonard?” she asks confusedly.

He makes it to the top, frantically scanning the area. “Dammit,” he hisses.

“Do you need help?”

“No, I’m fine. Just don’t let them take Spock away from Jimmy,” he orders. “Alert Commodore Harris of the situation.”

“I will.”

He cuts the connection and races down the east side of the hill, Jimmy’s small face haunting him. As soon as he reaches the bottom, he sees them.

Ben and Hikaru, with Demora in Sulu’s arms. They’re not far from the swingset the kids had played on earlier.

He is sure footed as he run towards them. He hopes they’d been more observant than he’d been and had Jimmy’s bunny already.

Demora sees him first, Sulu second.

The navigator hands Demora to Ben, and runs to meet McCoy by the swingset. “Is it Jimmy?”

“He lost Bo- his bunny,” he stumbles as he explains. “He’s gonna regress in age if Spock can’t help him. I need to find it now.”

If Nyota doesn’t get there before security, they’ll be in even more trouble. One thing living on a starbase like the Yorktown, there isn’t the same level of xenophobia as on Terra. Nor is there as much ignorance. Still, if the right—or wrong—person sees a Vulcan melding with an innocent child, security won’t hesitate to hold him while they demand answers.

“Oh, no,” Ben says as he joins them, his hand stroking the back of Demora’s head as she rests against his shoulder.

Sulu frowns. “I don’t see it by the swings. They were also by the bench.”

Bench? He slips a hand up to his neck and kneads the tight muscles there, helpless to prevent a dull ache from starting. He’s gotten sleep, but Chris is right. A few hours isn’t enough, not when he has to deal with a crisis like this. “Where was that?”

“There, Dr. McCoy,” Demora calls out, pointing beyond their shoulders.

He turns on his heel, following her line of sight. His gaze falls to the grass beneath the bench that was no more than fifty meters away, and the poor sight of Jimmy’s forgotten bunny in the grass beside it, where it has become the object of attention by a large bird.

His heart fills with all of the heartache and frustration he’s felt since Jimmy’s ‘accident,’ and before. “Shoo, you beast!”

And he runs and waves his hands like a madman at the damn bird feasting on Bunny Bones’s eye.

 

oOo

 

Spock will not leave Jimmy’s side once Dr. McCoy has brought him back to sickbay, and bares his teeth at the security guards to let them know he is not abandoning this child. If a snarl escapes from his lips in the process, he cannot help it. He cannot find the proper words to tell them or Nyota what he needs to return to himself. Whatever “himself” really is.

It is like a fever has taken hold of him, clouding his thoughts, his past, his future. Clouding everything but what he must do - protecting the child who sleeps with his bunny under his arm once more.

It is amusing that Commodore Harris wishes to speak with him in this state. He should be frightened, like the others are.

He will not be kept in a cage—their cells—on this glass home of theirs. He is Vulcan. He is Jimmy’s protector. He is volatile. He is unpredictable. He is not logic.

_He is Spock, not of Surak._

His head pounds painfully, from the force of a hundred hammers.

The doctor prepares a hypospray and looks at him in question.

He watches the doctor’s mouth move, his jaw clenching when Spock curls his lip and steps away from him.

Someone touches his arm and he looks down, prepared to break the hand that dares to touch him, but the familiar, smooth voice stops him from snapping it in two.

He lifts his gaze and looks straight into the eyes of his lover. She is a brave woman, his future mate, for he cannot judge her differently from how he does any other. If she is a threat to the child, he will not allow her to get any closer.

Her hand trembles under his fierce grip and unrelenting stare but she does not pull away. She raises her other hand and cups his cheek without hesitation, looking at him as if she is proud of his actions. He is not sure that she is as kind as she appears, for someone on this fragile, glass world is a deceiver.

His rage, strength, and cunning are all that matter, and he is all feeling. _All logic is gone gone gone from him—_

She strokes his cheek, despite his primitive behavior. She is not frightened of him. She is like his mother. She is brave, loving—

His mind slowly begins to clear, the fog parting and clarity emerging, and they are talking to him.

“Oh, Spock,” are the first words he hears since Jimmy first cried out for his lost bunny. “You saved him,” Nyota continues softly.

He is gratified that her whispers will not awaken the child, whose mind and body had endured with his assistance.

The doctor slips behind him, unnoticed as Spock attempts to put the pieces of the last hour together, the fear he’d instilled in all who saw him react and protect, and administers a medication into his system.

The pain eases from his mind and he sags into the chair beside Jimmy’s bed, undone and in relief.

 

oOo

 

He wakes up in his forest of fairies and gnomes, in the same bed, but the forest seems...bigger. The same nurse smiles at him as he sleepily rubs a fist in one of his eyes. The same clear wire is connected to his arm like it had been before.

But he feels different.

He looks around, trying to figure out what is new. Mr. Spock is sitting beside him in a chair, his dark eyes watching him closely. It makes him feel safe, though his head hurts a little. He isn’t sure why Mr. Spock is so quiet, but maybe his head hurts him, too.

Maybe that’s what’s different.

He looks and and sees Dr. Coy across the room, and his heart squeezes, like one of Sam’s old rubberbands are wrapped around it. It makes him feel bad, which makes his heart squeeze even harder.

He whimpers and hugs his bunny—

He squeals, a feeling of happiness bursting in his chest as he remembers. “Bones!

Dr. Coy spins around on his heel like he’s startled him, his eyes wide like Sam’s had been when he’d told Jimmy he’d seen a ghost in their basement. “Jimmy?”

“My Bones!” he says happily.

“Oh, I don’t know how you can stand it,” the nurse—he forgets her name—beside the doctor says. “It’s as if his little mind needs you, the memory of you and your friendship, to cope with what happened to him.”

Dr. Coy gives her a pained look before he walks over to Jimmy. “Jimmy, how are you feeling?”

He doesn’t answer as he peers up at the doctor, whose face looks funny, like he’s just eaten a lemon.

It bothers him, especially the shining in his eyes, and Jimmy holds up his bunny.

The doctor sits beside him on the bed, his hand raised and hovering over the bunny’s head like he wants to touch it. “He went through quite the ordeal. A bird wanted to play with his shiny eyes a bit, but I found him and chased it away.”

“He wikes being petted,” Jimmy explains, wanting his daddy to feel how soft he is, even though he’d been left alone in the park.

His daddy.

He holds his breath, his mind racing. He isn’t sure why he thought that. Dr. Coy isn’t really his daddy, but he acts just like he thinks a daddy should. He’s kind, funny, and cares for him. His heart squeezes like before, but this time he doesn’t feel as bad. Not if he’s his daddy.

He works his bottom lip between his teeth.

While he’s still thinking about daddies, he realizes he’s being picked up, as well as his bunny. The arms around him are strong and warm.

He hopes his Bunny Bones feels safe in Daddy’s arms, just like he does.

“I’m sorry,” his daddy says brokenly. “I’m so sorry, Jimmy.”

He whimpers, tears pricking his eyes, but he doesn’t know why that happens, either.

“All this is my fault,” his daddy whispers.

“But I weft him,” he mumbles, burrowing into his chest as a wave of guilt washes over him.

He’d messed up, like he always does. He’d messed up, and that’s why Sam had left him.

Daddy freezes. “What was that, Jimmy?”

He swallows. “I weft Bones.”

“No,” Daddy says in a pained voice. “The other thing.”

He’d said something else? “I didn’t...I….” He curls into himself, panicking and wishing he could hide under the bed again. Uncle Frank always teaches him a lesson when he messes up.

“Hey, it’s okay if you don’t remember,” Daddy murmurs and begins to rock him back and forth.

Jimmy clenches Daddy’s shirt, suddenly tired again. All of the thinking hurts his head. “Weft him.”

A deep sound rumbles from Daddy’s chest, soothingly, in Jimmy’s ear. “And you didn’t...you didn’t leave...Bones,” he finishes haltingly. He presses a kiss to the top of Jimmy’s head. “Bones just went away for awhile, and he’s sorry.” Daddy tightens his arms around him, his voice growing hoarse and thick. “He’s sorry that he didn’t tell you how much he loved you before he went away, because he does, so, so much. He’s sorry that he said the wrong things and hurt you, when you were probably scared and...and alone. He’s sorry things are confusing to you right now. He’s...he’s sorry that he can’t fix it all. At least not yet.”

Jimmy doesn’t know why, but he doesn’t think they’re talking about the same thing anymore.

He closes his eyes, exhausted, and sags against him. “‘Skay, Daddy.”

Daddy sucks in a sharp breath. “Just rest, Jim,” he whispers.

The rocking motion lulls Jimmy to sleep.

“I’ll be here again when you wake up. I promise.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading! I truly appreciate all of you who've stuck around for my little fic here...both commenters and lurkers alike! :) Until next time!


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